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DRAMATIC WORKS 



THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON 



COMPRISING 



THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 



RICHELIEU 

THE LADY OF LYONS 



MONEY 

NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 



a Beta SEUitton 



LONDON 
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 

THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE 
NEW YORK: 416. BROOME STREET 



1*13 



73 



Gift 
g, L, Menckefi: 

JAN 1 8 1929 



CONTENTS. 

:e duchess de la valliere Page 1 

THE LADY OP LYONS ; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE 103 

RICHELIEU ; OR, THE CONSPIRACY 177 

)NEY 299 

NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER 409 



THE DUCHESS DE LA YALIIERE. 






DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Louis the Fourteenth. 

The Duke de Lauzun, -\ 

Count de Grammont, > Courtiers. 

Marquis de Montespan, ) 

The Marquis de Bragelone, betrothed to Mademoiselle 

de la Valliere. 
Bertrand, the Armourer. 

Courtiers, Gentlemen of the Chamber, Priests, &c. 

Madame de la Valliere. 

Mademoiselle (afterwards Duchess) de la "Valliere. 

Madame de Montespan. 



Nuns, Ladies, Maids of Honour, &c. 



PROLOGUE. 



To paint the Past, yet in the Past portray 

Such shapes as seem dim prophets of To-day ; — 

To trace, through all the garish streams of art, 

Nature's deep fountain — woman's silent heart ;— 

On the stirr'd surface of the soften'd mind 

To leave the print of holier truths behind ; — 

And, while through joy or grief — through calm or strife, 

Bound the wild Passions on the course of Life, 

To share the race — yet point the proper goal, 

And make the Affections preachers to the Soul ; — 

Such is the aim with which a gaudier age 

Now woos the brief revival of the stage ; — 

Such is the moral, though unseen it flows, 

In Lauzun's wiles and soft La Valliere's woes ; 

Such the design our Author boldly drew, 

And, losing boldness, now submits to YOU. 

Not new to climes where dreamy Fable dwells — 
That magic Prospero of the Isle of Spells — 
Now first the wanderer treads, with anxious fear, 
The fairy land whose flowers allured him here. 
Dread is the court our alien pleads before ; 
Your verdict makes his exile from the shore. 
Yet, ev'n if banish'd, let him think, in pride, 
He trod the path with no unhallow'd guide ; 
Chasing the light, whose face, though veil'd and dim, 
Perchance a meteor, seem'd a star to him, 
Hoping the ray might rest where Truth appears 
Beneath her native well — your smiles and tears. 
B 2 



PROLOGUE. 

"When a wide waste, to Law itself unknown, 
Lay that fair world the Drama calls its own ; 
When all might riot on the mines of Thought, 
And Genius starved amidst the wealth it wrought ; 
He who now ventures on the haunted soil 
For nobler labourers won the rights of toil, 
And his the boast — that Fame now rests in ease 
Beneath the shade of her own laurel-trees. 
Yes, if with all the critic on their brow, 
His clients once have grown his judges now, 
And watch, like spirits on the Elysian side, 
Their brother ferried o'er the Stygian tide, 
To where, on souls untried, austerely sit 
(The triple Minos) — Gallery — Boxes — Pit — 
'Twill soothe to think, howe'er the verdict end, 
In every rival he hath served a friend. 

But well we know, and, knowing, we rejoice, 
The mightiest Critic is the PUBLIC VOICE. 
Awed, yet resign'd, our novice trusts in you, 
Hard to the practised, gentle to the new. 
Whate'er the anxious strife of hope and fear, 
He asks no favour — let the stage be clear. 
If from the life his shapes the poet draws, 
In man's deep breast lie all the critic's laws : 
If not, in vain the nicely-poised design, 
Vain the cold music of the labour'd line, 
Before our eyes, behold the living rules ; — 
The soul has instincts wiser than the schools ! 
Yours is the Great Tribunal of the Heart, 
And touch'd Emotion makes the test of Art. 
Judges august ! — the same in every age, 
While Passions weave the sorcery of the Stage,— 
While Nature's sympathies are Art's best laws,— 
To you a stranger has referr'd his cause : — 
If the soft tale he woos the soul to hear 
Bequeaths the moral, while it claims the tear, 
Each gentler thought to faults in others shown 
He calls in court — a pleader for his own ! 



THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEEE. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



Time, sunset. On the foreground an old Chateau ; beyond, Vine- 
yards and Woods, which present, through their openings, Views of a 
I River, reflecting the sunset. At a distance, the turrets of the Convent of 
: the Carmelites. 

Madame and Mademoiselle de la Valliere. 

Jfdlle. de la Vail. 'Tis our last eve, my mother ! 

Mme. de la Vail. Thou regrett'st it, 

My own Louise ! albeit the court invites thee — 
A court beside whose glories, dull and dim 
The pomp of Eastern kings, by poets told ; 
A court 

Mdlle. de la Vail. In which I shall not see my 
mother ! 
Nor these old walls, in which, from every stone, 
Childhood speaks eloquent of happy years ; 
Nor vines and woods, which bade me love the earth, 
Nor yonder spires, which raised that love to God ! — 

[The vesper bell tolls. 
The vesper bell ! — my mother, when, once more, 



6 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

I hear from those grey towers that holy chime, 
May thy child's heart be still as full of Heaven, 
And callous to all thoughts of earth, save those 
Which mirror Eden in the face of Home ! 

Mme. de la Vail. Do I not know thy soul ?— through 
every snare 
My gentle dove shall 'scape with spotless plumes. 
Alone in courts, I have no fear for thee : — 
Some natures take from Innocence the lore 
Experience teaches ; and their delicate leaves, 
Like the soft plant, shut out all wrong, and shrink 
From vice by instinct, as the wise by knowledge : 
And such is thine ! My voice thou wilt not hear, 
But Thought shall whisper where my voice would warn, 
And Conscience be thy mother and thy guide ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, may I merit all thy care, and 
most 
Thy present trust ! — Thou'lt write to me, my mother, 
And tell me of thyself : amidst the court 
My childhood's images shall rise. Be kind 
To the poor cotters in the wood ; — alas ! 
They'll miss me in the winter ! — and my birds 1 — 
Thy hand will feed them ? 

Mme. de la Vail. And that noble heart 

That loves thee as my daughter should be loved — 
The gallant Bragelone 1 * — should I hear 
Some tidings Fame forgets — if in the din 
Of camps I learn thy image makes his solace, 
Shall I not write of him ? — 

* The author has, throughout this play, availed himself of the 
poetical license to give to the name of Bragelone the Italian pro- 
nunciation, and to accent the final e. 



SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 7 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [with indifference]. His name will 
breathe 
Of home and friendship ; — yes ! — 

Mme. de la Vail. Of nought beside 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, why so pressing 1 — let me 
change the theme. 
The king ! — you have seen him ; — is he, as they say, 
So fair — so stately? 

Mine, de la Vail. Ay, in truth, my daughter, 
A king that wins the awe he might command. 
Splendid in peace, and terrible in war ; 
Wise in the council— gentle in the bower. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Strange, that so often through mine 
early dreams 
A royal vision flitted ; — a proud form, 
Upon whose brow nature had written " empire f 
While, on the lip, — love, smiling, wrapp'd in sunshine 
The charmed world that was its worshipper — 
A form like that which clothed the gods of old, 
Lured from Olympus by some mortal maid, — 
Youthful it seemed — but with ambrosial youth ; 
And beautiful — but half as beauty were 
A garb too earthly for a thing divine : — 
Was it not strange, my mother 1 

Mine, de la Vail. A child's fancy, 

Breathed into life by thy brave father's soul. 
He taught thee, in thy cradle yet, to lisp 
Thy sovereign's name in prayer — and still together, 
In thy rlrsb infant creed, were link'd the lessons 
" To honour God and love the king f it was 
A part of that old knightly faith of France 
Which made it half religion to be loyal. 



8 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. It might be so. I have preserved the 
lesson, 
Ev'n with too weak a reverence. — Yet, 'tis strange ! 
A dream so oft renew'd ! — 

Mme. de la Vail. Here comes thy lover ! 

Thou wilt not blame him if his lips repeat 
The question mine have ask'd ? Alphonso, welcome I 



SCENE II. 

Bragelone, Madame and Mademoiselle de la 
Valliere. 

Brage. My own Louise ! — ah ! dare I call thee so ? 
War never seem'd so welcome ! since we part, 
Since the soft sunshine of thy smiles must fade 
From these dear scenes, it soothes, at least to think 
I shall not linger on the haunted spot, 
And feel, forlorn amidst the gloom of absence, 
How dark is all once lighted by thine eyes. 

[Mme. de la Valliere retires into the chdteau. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Can friendship flatter thus ? — or 
wouldst thou train 
My ear betimes to learn the courtiers speech ? 

Brage. Louise ! Louise ! this is our parting hour : 
Me war demands — and thee the court allures. 
In such an hour, the old romance allow'd 
The maid to soften from her coy reserve, 
And her true knight, from some kind words, to take 
Hope's talisman to battle ! — Dear Louise ! 
Say, canst thou love me 1 — 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1ERE. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Sir ! — I ! — love ! — methinks 
It is a word that 

Brage. Sounds upon thy lips 

Like " land " upon the mariner's, and speaks 
Of home and rest after a stormy sea. 
Sweet girl, my youth has pass'd in camps ; and war 
Hath somewhat scathed my manhood ere my time. 
Our years are scarce well-mated : the soft spring 
Is thine, and o'er my summer's waning noon 
Grave autumn creeps. Thou say'st " I flatter ! " — well 
Love taught me first the golden words in which 
The honest heart still coins its massive ore. 
But fairer words, from falser lips, will soon 
Make ray plain courtship rude. Louise ! thy sire 
Betroth'd us in thy childhood : I have watch'd thee 
Bud into virgin May, and in thy youth 
Have seem'd to hoard my own ! — I think of thee, 
And I am youthful still ! The passionate prayer — 
The wild idolatry — the purple light 
Bathing the cold earth from a Hebe's urn ; — 
Yea, all the soul's divine excess which youth 
Claims as its own, came back when first I loved thee ! 
And yet so well I love, that if thy heart 
Recoil from mine, — if but one single wish, 
A shade more timid than the fear which ever 
Blends trembling twilight with the starry hope 
Of maiden dreams, would start thee from our union,— 
Speak, and my suit is tongueless ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, my lord ! 

If to believe all France's chivalry 
Boasts not a nobler champion, — if to feel 
Proud in your friendship, honour'd in your trust,—- 



10 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I, 

If this be love, and I have known no other, 
Why then 

Brage. Why then, thou lov'st me ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [aside]. Shall I say it 1 

I feel 'twere to deceive him ! Is it love ? 
Love, no, it is not love ! — [Aloud.] My noble lord, 
As yet I know not all mine own weak heart ; 
I would not pain thee, yet would not betray. 
Legend and song have often painted love, 
And my heart whispers not the love which should be 
The answer to thine own : — thou hadst best forget me ! 

Brage. Forget ! 

Mdlle: de la Vail. I am not worthy of thee ! 

Brage. Hold ! — 

My soul is less heroic than I deem'd it. 
Perchance my passion asks too much from thine 
And would forestall the fruit ere yet the blossom 
Blushes from out the coy and maiden leaves. 
No ! let me love ; and say, perchance the time 
May come when thou wilt bid me not forget thee. 
Absence may plead my cause ; it hath some magic ; 
I fear not contrast with the courtier-herd ; 
And thou art not Louise if thou art won 
By a smooth outside and a honey'd tongue, 
No ! when thou seest these hunters after power, 
These shadows, minion'd to the royal sun, — 
Proud to the humble, servile to the great, — 
Perchance thou'lt learn how much one honest heart, 
That never wrong'd a friend or shunn'd a foe, — « 
How much the old hereditary knighthood, 
Faithful to God, to glory, and to love, 
Outweighs a universe of cringing courtiers ! 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 11 

Louise, I ask no more ! — I bide my time ! 

Be- enter Mme. de la VALLiERE^/rora the chdteau. 

Mme. de la Vail. The twilight darkens. Art thou, 
now, Alphonso, 
Convinced her heart is such as thou wouldst have it 1 

Brage. It is a heavenly tablet — but my name 
Good angels have not writ there ! 

Mme. de la Vail. Nay, as yet, 

Love wears the mask of friendship : she must love thee. 

Brage. [half incredulously]. Thmk'st thou so 1 

Mme. de la Vail. Ay, be sure ! 

Brage. I'll think so too. 

[Turns to Mdlle. de la Valliere. 
Bright lady of my heart ! — [Aside.] By Heaven ! 'tis true 1 
The rose grows richer on her cheek, like hues 
That in the silence of the virgin dawn, 
Predict, in blushes, light that glads the earth. 
Her mother spoke aright ; — ah, yes, she loves me ! 
Bright lady of my heart, farewell ! and yet 
Again — farewell ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Honour and health be with 



you 



Mme. de la Vail. Nay, my Louise, when warriors wend 
to battle, 
The maid they serve grows half a warrior too ; 
And does not blush to bind on mailed bosoms 
The banner of her colours. 

Brage. Dare I ask it 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. A soldier's child could never blush, 
my lord, 
To belt so brave a breast ; — and yet, — well, wear it. 

[Placing her scarf round Bragelone's hauberk. 



12 THE DUCnESS DE LA. VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

Brage. Ah . add for thy sake. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. For the sake of one 

Who honours worth, and ne'er since Bayard fell, 
Have banners flaunted o'er a knight more true 
To France and Fame ; — 

Brage. And love 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, hush, my lord ; 

I said not that. 

Brage. But France and Fame shall say it ! 

Yes, if thou hear'st men speak of Bragelone, 
If proudest chiefs confess he bore him bravely, 
Come life, come death, his glory shall be thine, 
And all the light it borrow'd from thine eyes, 
Shall gild thy name. Ah ! scorn not then to say, 
" He loved me well ! " How well ! God shield and bless 
thee ! [Exit Bragelone. 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [aside]. Most worthy love ! why can 
I love him not % 

Mine, de la Vail. Peace to his gallant heart! when next 
we meet, 
May I have gain'd a son — and thou — 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [quickly]. My mother, 

This night let every thought be given to thee 1 
Beautiful scene, farewell ! — farewell, my home ! 
And thou, grey convent, whose inspiring chime 
Measures the hours with prayer, that morn and eve 
Life may ascend the ladder of the angels, 
And climb to heaven ! serene retreats, farewell ! 
And now, my mother ! — no ! some hours must yet 
Pass ere our parting. 

Mme. de la Vail. Cheer thee, my Louise ! 
And let us now within ; the dews are falling — 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. 13 

Mdlle. de la Vail. And I forgot how ill thy frame 
may bear them. 
Pardon ! — within, within ! — 

[Stopping short and gazing fondly on Mme. de la Valliere. 
Your hand, dear mother 1 

[Exeunt 



SCENE III. 

An old Armoury, of the heavy French Architecture preceding the 
time of Francis the First, in the Castle of Bragelone. Bertrand, 
the armourer, employed in polishing a sword. 

Bert. There now 1 I think this blade will scarcely 
shame 
My gallant master's hand ; it was the weapon, 
So legends say, with which the old Lord Rodolph 
Slew, by the postern gate, his lady's leman ! 
Oh, we're a haughty race — we old French lords ; 
Our honour is unrusted as our steel, 
And, when provoked, as ruthless ! 

Enter Bragelone. 

Brage. Ah, old Bertrand ! 

Why, your brave spirit, 'mid these coats of mail, 
Grows young again. So ! this, then, is the sword 
You'd have me wear. God wot ! a tranchant blade, 
Not of the modern fashion. 

Bert. My good lord, 

Yourself are scarcely of the modern fashion. 
They tell me, that to serve one's king for nothing, 
To deem one's country worthier than one's self, 



14 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

To hold one's honour not a phrase to swear by. — 
They tell me, now, all this is out of fashion. 
Come, take the sword, my lord ! — you have your father's 
Stout arm and lordly heart : they're out of fashion, 
And yet you keep the one — come, take the other. 

Brage. Why you turn satirist ! 

Ber. Satirist ! what is that 1 

Brage. Satirists, my friend, are men who speak the truth 
That courts may say — they do not know the fashion ! 
Satire on Yice is Wit's revenge on fools 
That slander Virtue. How now ! look ye, Bertrand ! 
Methinks there is a notch here. 

Ber. Ay, my lord ; 

I would not grind it out ; — 'twas here the blade 
Clove through the helmet, ev'n unto the chin, 
Of that irreverent and most scoundrel Dutchman 
Who stabb'd you, through your hauberk-joints — what 

time 
You placed your breast before the king. 

Brage. Hence, ever 

Be it believed, that, in his hour of need, 
A king's sole safeguard are his subjects' hearts ! 
Ha, ha ! good sword ! that was a famous stroke ! 
Thou didst brave deeds that day, thou quaint old servant, 
Though now — thou'rt not the fashion. 

Ber. Bless that look, 

And that glad laugh ! they bring me back the day 
When first old Bertrand arm'd you for the wars, — 
A fair-faced stripling ; yet, beshrew my heart, 
You spurr'd that field before the bearded chins, 
And saved the gallant Lord La Valliere's standard, 
And yet you were a stripling then. 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1ERE. 15 

Brage. La Valliere ! 

The very name goes dancing through my veins. 
Bertrand, look round the armoury. Is there nought 
I wore that first campaign ? Nay, nay ! no matter, 
I wear the name within me. Hark ye, Bertrand ! 
We're not so young as then we were : when next 
We meet, old friend, we both will end our labours, 
And find some nook, amidst yon antique trophies, 
Wherein to hang this idle mail. 

Ber. Huzza ! 

Hie village dames speak truth — my Lord will marry ! 

nd I shall nurse, in these old wither'd arms, 
mother boy — for France another hero. 
Ha, ha ! I am so happy. 

Brage. Good old man ! 

Why this is like my father's hall — since thus 
My father's servants love me. 

Ber. All must love you! 

Brage. All ! — let me think so. [Bugle sounds. 

Hark, the impatient bugle ! 
I hear the neigh of my exultant charger, 
Breathing from far the glorious air of war. 
Give me the sword ! 

Enter Servant, with a letter. 

Her mother's hand ! — "Louise, 
Arrived at court, writes sadly, and amidst 
The splendour pines for home," — I knew she would ! 
My own Louise ! — " Speaks much of the king's good- 
ness ;" — 
Goodness to her ! — that thought shall give the king 
A tenfold better soldier ! — " From thy friend, 
Who trusts ere long to hail thee as her son." 



16 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

Her son ! — a blessed name. These lines shall be 
My heart's true shield and ward away each weapon. 
He who shall wed Louise has conquer'd Fate, 
And smiles at earthly foes ! — Again the bugle ! 
Give me your hand, old man. My fiery youth 
Went not to battle with so blithe a soul 
As now burns in me. So ! she pines for home — 
I knew she would — I knew it ! Farewell, Bertrand ! 

[Boat Bragelone. 

Ber. Oh ! there'll be merry doings in the hall 
When my dear lord returns ! A merry wedding, 
And then — and then — oh, such a merry christening ! 
How well I fancy his grave manly face 
Brightening upon his first-born. 

[As he is going. 
Re-enter Bragelone. 

Brage. Ho, there ! Bertrand ! 

One charge I had forgot : — Be sure they train 
The woodbine richly round the western wing — 
My mother's old apartment. Well, man ! well ! 
Do you not hear me ? 

Ber. You, my lord ! the woodbine 1 

Brage. Yes ; see it duly done. I know she loves it ; 
It clambers round her lattice. I would not 
Have one thing absent she could miss. 

Remember ! 

[Exit Bragelone. 

Ber. And this is he whom warriors call " the Stern ! " 
The dove's heart beats beneath that lion breast. 
Pray Heaven his lady may deserve him ! Oh, 
What news for my good dame ! — i' faith, I'm glad 
I was the first to learn the secret. So, 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. II 

This year a wife — next year a boy ! I'll teach 
The voung rogue how his father clove the Dutchman 
Down to the chin ! Ha, ha ! old Bertrand now 
Will be of use again on winter nights, — 
I know he'll be the picture of his father. 

[Exit BERTRAND;. 



SCENE IV. 

An Antechamber in the Palace of Fontainebleau. 

Enter Lauzun and Grammont at opposite doors. 

Lau. Ah, Count, good day ! Were you at court last- 
night ? 

Gram. Yes ; and the court has grown the richer by 
A young new beauty. 

Lau. So ! — her name 1 

Gram. La Valliere.. 

Lau. Ay, I have heard ; — a maid of honour % 

Gram. Yes. 

The women say she's plain. 

Lau. The women ! oh, 

The case it is that's plain — she must be lovely. 

Gram. The dear, kind gossips of the court declare ' 
The pretty novice hath conceived a fancy — 
A wild, romantic, innocent, strange fancy — 
For our young king ; a girlish love, like that 
Told of in fairy tales : she saw his picture, 
Sigh'd to the canvas, murmur'd to the colours, 
And — fell in love with carmine and gambouge* 






18 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

Lau. The simple dreamer ! Well, she saw the king ? 

Gram. And while she saw him, like a rose, when May 
Breathes o'er its bending bloom, she seem'd to shrink 
Into her modest self, and a low sigh 
Shook blushes (sweetest rose-leaves !) from her beauty. 

Lau. You paint it well. 

Gram. And ever since that hour 

She bears the smiling malice of her comrades 
With an unconscious and an easy sweetness ; 
As if alike her virtue and his greatness 
Made love impossible : so, down the stream 
Of purest thought, her heart glides on to danger. 

Lau. Did Louis note her 1 — Has he heard the gossip ? 

Gram? Neither, me thinks : his Majesty is cold. 
The art of pomp, and not the art of love, 
Tutors his skill — Augustus more than Ovid. 

Lau. The time will come. The king as yet is young, 
Flush'd with the novelty of sway, and fired 
With the great dream of cutting Dutchmen's throats : 
A tiresome dream — the poets call it " Glorv," 

Gram. So much the better, — 'tis one rival less ; 
The handsome king would prove a dangerous suitor. 

Lau. Oh, hang the danger ! He must have a mistress ; 
'Tis an essential to a court : how many 
Favours, one scarcely likes to ask a king, 
One flatters from a king's inamorata ! 
We courtiers fatten on the royal vices ; . 
And, while the king lives chaste, he cheats, he robs me 
Of ninety-nine per cent. ! 

Gram. Ha, ha ! Well, duke, 

We meet again to-night. You join the revels? 
Till then, adieu. 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALUERS. 19 

Lau. Adieu, dear count. 

[Exit Grammont. 
The king 
Must have a mistress : I must lead that mistress. 
The times are changed ! — 'twas by the sword and spear 
Our fathers bought ambition — vulgar butchers ! 
But now our wit's our spear — intrigue our armour ; 
The antechamber is our field of battle ; 
And the best hero is — the cleverest rogue 1 

[Exit Lauzun. 



SCENE Y. 

Night — the Gardens of the Fontainebleau, brilliantly illuminated 
with coloured lamps — Fountains, vases, and statues in perspective*— 
A pavilion in the background — to the right the Palace of the Fontaine- 
bleau, illuminated. Enter Courtiers, Ladies, &c. 
A Dance. 

Enter Louis followed by Courtiers, <fec. 

Louis. Eair eve and pleasant revels to you all ! 
Ah, Duke ! — a word with you. 

[Courtiers give way. 
Thou hast seen, my Lauzun, 
The new and fairest floweret of our court, 
This youngest of the graces — sweet La Valliere, 
Blushing beneath the world's admiring eyes % 

Lau. [Aside]. (So, so ! — he's caught !) Your Majesty 
speaks warmly ; 
Your praise is just — and grateful — 

* The effect of the scene should be principally made by jets-d'eau, 
waterfalls, &c. 

c 2 



20 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

Louis. Grateful ? 

Lau. Ay. 

Know you not, Sire, it is the jest, among 
The pretty prattlers of the royal chamber, 
That this young Dian of the woods has found 
Endymion in a king, — a summer dream, 
Bright, but with vestal fancies ! — scarcely love, 
But that wild interval of hopes and fears 
Through which the child glides, trembling, to the woman ? 

Louis. Blest thought ! Oh, what a picture of delight 
Your words have painted ! — 

Lau. While we speak, behold, 

Through yonder alleys, with her sister planets, 
Your moonlight beauty gleams, 

Louis. 'Tis she ! — this shade 

Shall hide us ! — quick — 

[Enters one of the bosquets. 

Lau. [following him]. I trust my creditors 
"Will grow the merrier from this night's adventure. 

Enter Mdlle. de la Valliere and Maids of Honour. 

First Maid. How handsome looks the Duke de Guiche 
to-night ! 

Second Maid. Well, to my taste, the graceful Gram- 
mont bears 
The bell from all !— 

Third Maid. But, then, that charming Lauzun 

Has so much wit. 

First Maid. And which, of all these gallants, 

May please the fair La Valliere most 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. In truth, 

I scarcely mark'd them ; when the king is by, 
Who can have eye, or ear, or thought for others ? 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 21 

First Maid. You raise your fancies high ! 

Second Maid. And raise them vainly ! 

The king disdains all love 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. "Who spoke of love ? 

The sunflower, gazing on the Lord of heaven, 
Asks but its sun to shine ! — Who spoke of love ? 
And who would wish the bright and lofty Louis 
To stoop from glory ? Love should not confound 
So great a spirit with the herd of men. 
Who spoke of love 1 

First Maid. My country friend, you talk 

Extremely well ; but some young lord will teach you 
To think of Louis less, and more of love. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, ev'n the very presence of his 
greatness 
Exalts the heart from each more low temptation. 
He seems to walk the earth as if to raise 
And purify our wandering thoughts, by fixing 
Thought on himself ; — and she who thinks on Louis 
Shuts out the world, and scorns the name of love ! 

First Maid. Wait till you're tried — [Music. 

But, hark ! the music chides us 
For wasting this most heavenly night so idly. 
Come ! let us join the dancers. 

[Exeunt Maids. 

[As La ValliSbe follows, the King steals from the bosquet, 
and takes her hand, while Lauzun retiresin the opposite 
direction. 

Louis. Sweet La Yalliere ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Ah !— 

Louis. Nay, fair lady, fly not, ere we welcome 

Her who gives night its beauty ! 



'22 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Sire, permit me ! 

My comrades wait me. 

Louis. "What ! my loveliest subject 

So soon a rebel ? Silent ! — Well, be mute, 
And tench the world the eloquence of blushes. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. I may not listen — 

Louis. What if / had set 

Thyself the example 1 What if I had listen'd, 
Veil'd by yon friendly boughs, and dared to dream 
That one blest word which spoke of Louis absent 
Might charm his presence, and make Nature music ? 

Mdlle. de la Vail. You did not, Sire ! you could not ! 

Louis. Could not hear thee, 

Nor pine for these divine, unwitness'd moments, 
To pray thee, dearest lady, to divorce 
Xo more the thought of love from him who loves thee. 
And — faithful still to glory — swears thy heart 
Unfolds the fairest world a king can conquer ! 
Hear me, Louise ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. No, Sire ; forget those words ! 
I am not what their foolish meaning spoke me, 
But a poor simple girl, who loves her king, 
And honour more. Forget, and do not scorn me ! 

[Exit Mdlle. de la Yalliere. 

Louis. Her modest coyness fires me more than all 
Her half-unconscious and most virgin love. 

Enter Courtiers, Ladies, Guests, &c. ; Lauzun, 
Grammont, and Montespan. 
Well, would the dancers pause awhile ? 

Lau. Ev'n pleasure 

Wearies at last. 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 23 

Louis. We've but to change its aspect, 

And it resumes its freshness. Ere the banquet 
Calls us, my friends, we have prepared a game 
To shame the lottery of this life, wherein 
Each prize is neighbour'd by a thousand blanks. 
Methinks it is the duty of a monarch 
To set the balance right, and bid the wheel 
Shower nought but prizes on the hearts he loves. 
What ho, there ! with a merry music, raise 
Fortune, to show how Merit conquers Honours ! 

[Music 

[The Pavilion at the bach of tlte stage opens, and discovers 
the Temple of Fortune superbly illuminated. Fortune ; 
at her feet, a wheel of light ; at either hand, a golden 
vase, over each of which presides a figure — the one 
representing Merit, the other Honour. 

Louis. Approach, fair dames and gallants ! Aye, as now, 
May Fortune smile upon the friends of Louis ! 

[The Courtiers and Ladies group around the vases. From 
the one over which Merit presides they draw lots, and 
receive in return from Honour various gifts of jewels, <Lc. 

Enter Mdllk de la Yalliere at the back of the stage. 

Louis [to Mdlle. de la Vail.]. Nay, if you smile not on 
me, then the scene 
Hath lost its charm. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, Sire, all eyes are on us ! 
Lords. All eyes should learn where homage should be 
render'd. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. I pray you, Sire 

Lau. Will't please your Majesty 

To try your fortune 1 



24 TIIE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT II. 

Louis. Fortune ! Sweet La Valliere, 

I only seek my fortune in thine eyes. 

[Music. Louis draws, and receives a diamond bracelet. 
Ladies crowd round. 

First Lady. How beautiful ! 

Second Lady. Each gem were worth a duchy ! 

Third Lady. Oh, happy she upon whose arm the king 
Will bind the priceless band ! 

Louis [approaching Mdlle. de la Vail.']. Permit me, lady. 

[Clasps the bracelet. 

Lau. Well done — well play'd ! In that droll game 
call'd Woman, 
Diamonds are always trumps for hearts. 

First Lady. Her hair's 

Too light ! 

Second Lady. Her walk is so provincial ! 

Third Lady. D'ye think she paints ? 

Lau. Ha, ha ! What envious eyes, 

What fawning smiles, await the king's new mistress ! 



ACT II— SCENE I. 

The Gardens of tlte Fontainebleau. 

Enter Bragelone. 

Brage. Why did we suffer her to seek the court ? 
It is a soil in which the reptile Slander 
Still coils in slime around the fairest flower. 
Can it be true ? — Strange rumours pierced mv tent 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 25 

Coupling her name with — pah ! — how foul the thought 

is !— 
The maid the king loves ! — Fie ! I'll not believe it ! 
I left the camp — sped hither : if she's lost, 
Why then I — down — down, base heart ! wouldst thou 

suspect her 1 
Thou — who shouldst be her shelter from suspicion ? 
But I may warn, advise, protect, and save her — 
Save — 'tis a fearful word ! 

Enter Lauzun. 

Lau. Lord Bragelone ! 

Methought your warrior spirit never breathed 
The air of palaces ! No evil tidings, 
I trust, from Dunkirk 1 

Br age. No. The fleur-de-lis 

Bears her white crest unstain'd. Mine own affairs 
Call me to court. 

Lau. Affairs ! I hate the word ; 

It sounds like debts. 

Brage. [Aside]. This courtier may instruct me. 
[Aloud.] Our king — he bears him well 1 

Lau. Oh, bravely, Marquis ; 

Engaged with this new palace of Versailles. 
It costs some forty millions ! 

Brage. Ay, the People 

Groan at the burthen. 

Lau. People ! — what's the People ? 

I never heard that word at court ! The People ! 

Brage. I doubt not, duke. The People, like the 
Air, 
Is rarely heard, save when it speaks in thunder. 



2G THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IL 

I pray you grace for that old-fashion'd phrase. 
What is the latest news 1 

Lau. His Majesty 

Dines half an hour before his usual time. 
That's the last news at court ! — it makes sensation ! 

Brage. Is there no weightier news 1 I heard at Dunkirk 

How the king loved a loved a certain maiden — 

The brave La "Valliere's daughter. 

Lau. How, my lord, 

How can you vegetate in such a place 1 
I fancy the next tidings heard at Dunkirk 
Will be that — Adam's dead ! 

Brage. The news is old, then ? 

Lau. News ! news, indeed ! Why, by this time, our 
lackeys 
Have worn the gossip threadbare. News ! — 

Brage. t The lady 

(She is a soldier's child) hath not yet barter'd 
Her birthright for ambition ? She rejects him % 
Speak ! — She rejects him % 

Lau. Humph ! 

Brage. Oh, duke, I know 

This courtier air — this most significant silence — 
With which your delicate race are wont to lie 
Away all virtue ! Shame upon your manhood ! 
Speak out, and say Louise La Yalliere lives 
To prove to courts — that woman can be honest 1 

Lau. Marquis, you're warm. 

Brage. You dare not speak ; — I knew it ! 

Lau. Dare not ? 

Brage. Oh, yes, you dare, with hints and smiles* 

To darken fame — to ruin the defenceless — 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 27 



I Blight with a gesture — wither with a sneer ! 
i Did I say " dare not ?" — No man dares it better ! 
Lau. My lord, these words must pass not ! 
Brage. Duke, forgive me ! 

1 I am a rough, stern soldier — taught from youth 
; To brave offence, and by the sword alone 
! Maintain the license of my speech. Oh, say — 
| Say but one word ! — say this poor maid is sinless, 
; And, for her father's sake — (her father loved me !) 
I I'll kneel to thee for pardon ! 

Lau. Good, my lord, 

I know not your interest in this matter : 
1 Tis said that Louis loves the fair La Valliere ; 
But what of that 1 — good taste is not a crime ! 
"Tis said La Yalliere does not hate the king ; 
But what of that 1 — it does but prove her — loyal ! 
I know no more. I trust you're satisfied ; 

I If not 

Brage. Thou liest ! 

Lau. Nay, then, draw ! 

\TJiey fight — after a few passes, Lauzun is disarmed. 
Brage. There, take 

Thy sword. Alas ! each slanderer wears a weapon 
No honest arm can baffle — this is edgeless. 

[Exit Bragelone. 
Lau. Pleasant ! This comes, now, of one's condescending 
To talk with men who cannot understand 
The tone of good society. Poor fellow ! 

[Exit Lauzun, 



28 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT II. 



SCENE II. 

Enter Mademoiselle de la Valliere. 

Mdllc. de la Vail. He loves me, then ! He loves me ! 
Love ! wild word ! 
Did I say love 1 Dishonour, shame, and crime 
Dwell on the thought ! And yet — and yet — he loves me ! 

[Re-enter Bragelone, at the bach of the stage. — Site takes 
out the King's picture. 

Mine early dreams were prophets ! — Steps ! The king ? 

Br age. No, lady ; pardon me ; — a joint mistake ; 
You sought the king — and / Louise la Valliere ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. You here, my lord ! — you here ! 

Brage. There was a maiden 

Fairer than many fair ; but sweet and humble, 
And good and spotless, through the vale of life 
She walk'd, her modest path with blessings strew'd 
(For all men bless'd her ); from her crystal name, 
Like the breath i' the mirror, even envy pass'd : 
I sought that maiden at the court ; none knew her. 
May I ask you — where now Louise la Valliere 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Cruel ! — unjust ! You were my fa- 
ther's friend, 
Dare you speak thus to me % 

Brage. Dare ! dare ! — 'Tis welL 
You have learnt your state betimes ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. My state, my lord ! 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 29 



I know not by what right you thus assume 
The privilege of insult ! 

Brage. Ay, reproach ! 

The harlot's trick — for shame ! Oh, no, your pardon ! 
You are too high for shame : and so — farewell ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. My lord ! — my lord, in pity — 
No ! — injustice, 
Leave me not thus ! 

Brage. Louise ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Have they belied me 1 

Speak, my good lord ! — What crime have I committed ? 

Brage. No crime — at courts ! 'Tis only Heaven and 
Honour 
That deem it aught but — most admired good fortune ! 
Many, who swept in careless pride before 
The shrinking, spotless, timorous La Yalliere, 
Will now fawn round thee, and with bended knees 
Implore sweet favour of the king's kind mistress. 
Ha, ha ! — this is not crime ! Who calls it crime 1 
Do prudes say "Crime?" Go, bribe them, and they'll 

swear 
Its name is greatness. Crime, indeed ! — ha, ha ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. My heart finds words at length ! — 
'Tis false ! 

Brage. 'Tis false ! 

Why, speak again ! Say once more it is false — 
1 Tis false ! — again, His false 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Alas, I'm wretched ! 

Brage. No, lady, no ! not wretched, if not guilty ! 

[Mademoiselle de la Valli Sre after walking to and fro 
in great agitation, seats herself on one of the benches of 
Hie garden, and covers her face with her hands. 



30 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT II 

Br age. [Aside]. Are these the tokens of remorse ? No 
matter ! 
I loved her well ! And love is pride, not love, 
If it forsake ev'n guilt amidst its sorrows ! 
[Aloud.'] Louise ! Louise ! — Speak to thy friend, Louise ! 
Thy father's friend ! — thine own ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. This hated court ! 

Why came I hither 1 Wherefore have I closed 
My heart against its own most pleading dictates 1 
Why clung to virtue, if the brand of vice 
Sear my good name 1 

Brage. That, when thou pray'st to Heaven, 

Thy soul may ask for comfort — not forgiveness ! 

Malle. de la Vail, [rising eagerly]. A blessed thought ! 
I thank thee ! 

Brage. Thou art innocent ! 

Thou hast denied the king 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. I have denied him. 

Brage. Curst be the lies that wrong'd thee ! — doubly 
curst 
The hard, the icy selfishness of soul, 
That, but to pander to an hour's caprice, 
Blasted that flower of life — fair fame ! Accurst 
The king who casts his purple o'er his vices ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Hold ! — thou malign'st thy king ! 

Brage. He spared not thee. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. The king — Heaven bless him ! 

Brage. Wouldst thou madden me % 

Thou ! — No — thou lov'st him not ? — thou hid'st thy face 1 
Woman, thou tremblest ! Lord of Hosts, for this 
Hast thou preserved me from the foeman's sword, 
And through the incarnadined and raging seas 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 31 

Of war upheld me ? — made both life and soul 

The sleepless priests to that fair idol — Honour ? 

Was it for this ? I loved thee not, Louise, 

As gallants love ! Thou wert this life's ideal, 

Breathing through earth the Lovely and the Holy, 

And clothing Poetry in human beauty ! 

When in this gloomy world they spoke of sin, 

I thought of thee, and smiled — for thou wert sinless ! 

And when they told of some diviner act 

That made our nature noble, my heart whisper'd — 

" So would have done Louise ! " — 'Twas thus I loved thee ! 

To lose thee, I can bear it ; but to lose, 

With thee, all hope, all confidence, of virtue — 

This — this is hard ! — Oh ! I am sick of earth ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, speak not thus ; — be gentle with 
me. Come, 
I am not what thou deem'st me, Bragelone j 
Woman I am, and weak. Support, advise me ! 
I Forget the lover, but be still the friend. 
Do not desert me — thou ! 

Brage. Thou lov'st the king ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. But I can fly from love. 

Brage. Poor child ! And whither ? 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Take me to the old castle, to my 
mother. 

Brage. The king can reach thee there ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. He'll not attempt it. 

Alas ! in courts, how quickly men forget ! 

Brage. Not till their victim hath surrender'd all ! 
Hadst thou but yielded, why thou might'st have lived 
Beside his very threshold, safe, unheeded ; 
But thus, with all thy bloom of heart unrifled, — 



32 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT II. 

The fortress storm'd, not conquer'd, — why man's pride, 
If not man's lust, would shut thee from escape ! 
Art thou in earnest, — wouldst thou truly fly 
From gorgeous infamy to tranquil honour, 
God's house alone may shelter thee ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. The convent ! 

Alas ! alas ! to meet those eyes no more ! 
Never to hear that voice ! 

Br age. [departing]. Enough. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Yet, stay ! 

I'll see him once ! one last farewell — and then — 
Yes, to the convent ! 

Brage. I have done ! — and yet, 

Ere I depart, take back the scarf thou gav'st me. 
Then didst "thou honour worth ! " now, gift and giver 
Alike are worthless. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Worthless ! Didst thou hear 
me? ' 
Have I not said that — 

Brage. Thou wouldst see the king ! 

Yice first, and virtue after ! O'er the marge 
Of the abyss thou tremblest. One step more, 
And from all heaven the Angels shall cry "Lost I " 
Thou ask'st that single step ! Wouldst thou be saved ? 
Lose not a moment. — Come ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [in great agony]. Beside that tree, 
When stars shone soft, he vow'd for aye to love me ! 

Brage. Think of thy mother ! At this very hour 
She blesses Heaven that thou wert born — the last 
Fair scion of a proud and stainless race. 
To-morrow, and thy shame may cast a shade 
Over a hundred 'scutcheons, and thy mother 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 33 

Feel thou wert born that she might long to die I 
Come ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. I am ready — take my hand. 

[Her eye falls on the bracelet. 
Away ! 
This is his gift ! And shall I leave him thus 1 
Not one kind word to break the shock of parting — 

Br age. And break a mother's heart ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail, Be still ! Thou'rt man ! 

Thou canst not feel as woman feels ! — her weakness 
Thou canst not sound. O Louis, Heaven protect thee ! 
May fate look on thee with La Valliere's eyes ! 
Now I am ready, sir. Thou'st seen how weak 
Woman is ever where she loves. Now, learn, 
Proportion' d to that weakness is the strength 
With which she conquers love ! O Louis, Louis ! 
Quick ! take me hence ! — 

Brage. The heart she wrongs hath saved her ! 

And is that all ! — The shelter for mine age — 
The Hope that was the garner for Affection — 
The fair and lovely tree, beneath whose shade 
The wearied soldier thought to rest at last, 
And watch life's sun go calm and cloudless down, 
Smiling the day to sleep — all, all lie shatter'd ! 
No matter. I have saved thy soul from sorrow, 
Whose hideous depth thy vision cannot fathom. 
Joy ! — I have saved thee ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Ah ! when last * e parted 

I told thee, of thy love I was not worthy. 
Another shall replace me ! 

Brage. [smiling sadly]. Hush ! Another ! 
No I — See, I wear thy colours still ! Though Hope 



34 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLltRE. [ACT II. 

Wanes from the plate, the dial still remains, 
And takes no light from stars ! I — I am nothing ! 
But thou — Nay, weep not ! Yet these tsars are honest : 
Thou hast not lived to make the Past one blot, 
Which life in vain would weep away i Poor maiden ! 
I could not cheer thee then. Now, joy ! — I've saved thee ! 
[Exeunt Mdlle. de la Yalliere and Bragelone. 



SCENE III. 

Tlic King's Cabinet at Fontaincblcau;* the King seated at a table, 
covered with papers, &c, writing. 

Enter Lauzun. 

Louis. Lauzun, I sent for you. Your zeal has served me, 
And I am grateful. There, this order gives you 
The lands and lordship of De Yesci. 

Lau. Sire, 

How shall I thank your goodness 1 

Louis. Hush ! — by silence ! 

Lau. [aside]. A king's forbidden fruit has pretty wind- 
falls ! 

Louis. This beautiful Louise ! I never loved 
Till now. 

Lau. She yields not yet ? 

* To some it may be interesting to remember that this cabinet, in 
which the most powerful of the Bourbon kings is represented as , 
rewarding the minister of his pleasures, is the same as that in which 
is yet shown the table upon which Napoleon Bonaparte (son of a 
gentleman of Corsica) signed the abdication of the titles and 
dominions of Charlemagne ! 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. 35 

Louis. But gives refusal 

A voice that puts ev'n passion to the blush 
To own one wish so soft a heart denies it ! 

Lau. A woman's No ! is but a crooked path 
Unto a woman's Yes ! Your Majesty 
Saw her to : day ? 

Louis No ! — Grammont undertakes 

To bear, in secret, to her hand, some lines 
That pray a meeting.- — I await his news. 

[Continues toritinff. 

Lau. [aside]. I'll not relate my tilt with Bragelone. 
First, I came off the worst. — No man of sense 
Ever confesses that ! And, secondly, 
This most officious, curious, hot-brain'd Quixote 
Might make him jealous ;. jealous kings are peevish ; . 
And, if he fall to questioning the lady, 
She'll learn who told the tale, and spite the teller- 
Oh ! the great use of logic ! 

Louis. 'Tis in vain 

I strive by business to beguile impatience ! 
How my heart beats ! — Well, count ! 

Enter Grammont. 

Cham. Alas, my liege ! 

Louis. Alas ! — Speak out ! 

Gram. The court has lost La Valliere ! 

Louis. Ha ! — lost ! 

Gram. She has fled, and none guess whither 

Louis. Fleet i 

I'll not believe it !— Fled ! 

Lau. What matters, sire I 

No spot is sacred from the king ! 
d 2 



36 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT II. 

Louis. By Heaven 

I am a king ! — Not all the arms of Europe 
Could wrest one jewel from my crown. And she — 
What is my crown to her ! I am a king ! 
Who stands between the king and her he loves 
Becomes a traitor — and may find a tyrant ! 
Follow me ! 

[Exit Louis. 

Grain. Who e'er heard of maids of honour 

Flying from kings 1 

Lau. Ah, had you been a maid, 

How kind you would have been, you rogue ! — Come on ! 
[Exeunt Lauzun and Grammont 



SCENE IV. 

TJie Cloisters of a Convent — Night — Thunder and Lightning, the latter 
made visible through the long oriel windows. 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [rising]. Darkly the night sweeps on. 
No thought of sleep 
Steals to my heart. What sleep is to the world 
Praver is to me — life's balm, and grief's oblivion ! 
Ye% o-'p before the altar of my God, 
Unhailow'd fire is raging through my veins — 
Heav'n on my lips, but earth within my heart — 
And while I pray his memory prompts the prayer, 
And all I ask of Heaven is — " Guard my Louis ! " 
Forget him — that I dare not pray ! I would not, 
Ev'n if I could, be happy, and forget him ! 

[Thunder. 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 37 

Roll on, roll on, dark chariot of the storm, 
Whose wheels are thunder ! — the rack'd elements 
Can furnish forth no tempest like the war 
Of passions in one weak and erring heart ! 

[The bell tolls one. 
Hark to night's funeral knell ! How through the roar 
Of winds and thunder thrills that single sound, 
Solemnly audible ! — the tongue of time, 
In time's most desolate hour ! — it bids us muse 
On worlds which love can reach not ! Life runs fast 
To its last sands ! To bed, to bed ! — to tears 
And wishes for the grave ! — to bed, to bed ! 

[A trumpet is heard without 

Two or three Nuns hurry across the stage. 

First Nun. Most strange ! 

Second Nun. In such a night, too ! The great gates, 
That ne'er unclose save to a royal guest, 
Unbarr'd ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. What fear, what hope, by turns dis- 
tracts me ! 

[The trumpet sounds again. 
First Nun. Hark ! in the court, the ring of hoofs ! — 
the door 
Creaks on the sullen hinge ! 

Lau. [without]. Make way ! — the king ! 

Enter Louis and Lauzun. 

Mdlle. de la Vail, [rushing forward]. Oh, Louis ! — oh, 
beloved ! [Then pausing abruptly.] No, touch 
me not ! 
Leave me ! in pity leave me ! Heavenly Father, 



38 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIK.HE. |_ACT II. 

I fly to thee ! Protect rne from his arms — 
Protect me from myself ! 

Louis. Oh bliss ! — Louise ! 

Enter Abbess and other Nuns. 

Abbess. Peace, peace ! What clamour desecrates the 
shrine 
And solitudes of God ? 

Lau. Madam, your knee— 

The king ! 

Abbess. The king ! — you mock me, sir ! 

Louis [quitting Mdlle. de la Yalliere]. Behold 

Your sovereign, reverend mother ! We have come 
To thank you for your shelter of this lady, 
And to reclaim our charge. 

Abbess. My liege, these walls 

Are sacred even from the purple robe 
And sceptred hand. 

Louis. She hath not ta'en the vow ! 

She's free ! — we claim her ! — she is of our court ! 
Woman, — go to ! 

Abbess. The maiden, sire, is free ! 

Your royal lips have said it ! — She is free ! 
And if this shrine her choice, whoe'er compels hex' 
Forth from the refuge, doth incur the curse 
The Roman Church awards to even kings ! 
Speak, lady ! — dost thou claim against the court 
The asylum of the cloister 1 

Louis. Darest thou brave us ? 

Lau. [aside to Louis]. Pardon, my liege ! — reflect ! Let 
not the world 
Sav that the king — 



8CENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 39 

Louis. Can break his bonds ! — Away ! 

I was a man before I was a king ! 

[Approaching Mdlle. de la Yalllebe. 
Lady, we do command your presence ! [Lowering his voice.] 

Sweet ! 
Adored Louise ! — if ever to your ear 
My whispers spoke in music — if my life 
Be wotth the saving, do not now desert me S 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Let me not hear him, Heaven ! — 
Strike all my senses ! 
Make — make me dumb, deaf, blind, — but keep me honest ! 

Abbess. Sire, you have heard her answer ! 

Louis [advancing passionately, pauses, and then with 
great dignity]. Abbess, no ! 

This lady was intrusted to our charge — 
A fatherless child ! — The king is now her father I 
Madam, we would not wrong you ; but we know 
That sometimes most unhallow'd motives wake 
Your zeal for converts ! — This young maid is wealthy, 
And nobly born ! — Such proselytes may make 
A convent's pride, but oft a convent's victims ! 
No more ! — we claim the right the law awards us, 
Free and alone to commune with this maiden. 
If then her choice go with you — be it so ; 
We are no tyrant ! Peace ! — retire ! 

Abbess. My liege ! 

Forgive — 

Louis. We do ! Retire ! 

[Lauzun, the Abbess, &c, withdraw. 

Louis. We are alone ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Alone ! — No, God is present, and the 
conscience ! 



40 THE DUCHBSS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT II. 

Louis. Ah ! fear'st thou, then, that heart that would 
resign 
Ev'n love itself to guard one pang from thee 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. I must speak ! — Sire, if every drop 
of blood 
Were in itself a life, I'd shed them all 
For one hour's joy to thee ! — But fame and virtue — 
My father's grave — my mother's lonely age — 
These, these — [Thunder. 

I hear their voice ! — the tires of Heaven 
Seem to me like the eyes of angels, and 
Warn me against myself ! — Farewell ! 

Louis. Louise, 

I will not hear thee ! What ! farewell ! that word 
Sounds like a knell to all that's worth the living ! 
Farewell ! why, then, farewell all peace to Louis, 
And the poor king is once more but a thing 
Of state and forms. The impulse and the passion — 
The blessed air of happy human life — 
The all that made him envy not his subjects, 
Dies in that word ! Ah, canst thou — dar'st thou say it ? 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, speak not thus ! — Speak harshly ! 
threat, command ! — 
Be all the king ! 

Louis. The king ! he kneels to thee ! 

Mdlle. de la Vail. I'm weak — be generous ! My own 
soul betrays me ; 
But thou betray me not J 

Louis. Nay, hear me, sweet one ! 

Desert me not this once, and I will swear 
To know no guiltier wish — to curb my heart — 
To banish hope from love — and nurse no dream 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 41 



Thy spotless soul itself shall blush to cherish ! 
Hear me, Louise — thou lov'st me 1 

Mdlle. de la Vail. Love thee, Louis ! 

Louis. Thou lov'st me, — then confide ! Who loves, 

trusts ever ! 
Mdlle. de la Vail. Trust thee ! — ah ! dare I ? 
Louis [clasping her in his arms]. Ay, till death ! What 
ho! 
Lauzun ! I say ! 

Enter Lauzun. 

Mdlle. de la Vail. No, no ! 

Louis. Not trust me, dearest ? 

[She falls on his shoulder — the Abbess and Nuns advance. 

Abbess. Still firm ! 

Lau. No, madam ! — Way there for the king 1 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 

An Antechamber in the Palace of Madame la Duchesse 
de la Valliere at Versailles. 

Enter Lauzun and Madame de Montespan 
at opposite doors. 

Lau. Ha ! my fair friend, well met ! — how fares 

Athend % 
Mme. de Mon. Weary with too much gaiety ! Now, 

tell me, 
Do you ne'er tire of splendour ? Does this round 



42 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

Of gaudy pomps — this glare of glitt'ring nothings — 
Does it ne'er pall upon you 1 To my eyes 
'Tis as the earth would be if turf d with scarlet, 
Without one spot of green. 

Lau. We all feel thus 

Until we are used to it. Art has grown my nature, 
Aud if I see green fields, or ill-dress' d people, 
I cry " How artificial ! " With me, " Nature" 
Is " Paris and Versailles." The word, " a man," 
Means something noble, that one sees at court. 
Woman 's the thing Heaven made for wearing trinkets 
And talking scandal. That's my state of nature ! 
You'll like it soon ; you have that temper which 
Makes courts its element. 

Mme. de Mori. And how 1 — define, sir. 

Lau. First, then — but shall I not offend ? 

Mme. de Mon. Be candid. 

I'd know my faults, to make them look like virtues. 

Lau. First, then, Athene, you've an outward frankness* 
Deceit in you looks honester than truth. 
Thoughts, at court, like faces on the stage, 
Require some rouge. You rouge your thoughts so well, 
That one would deem their only fault, that nature 
Gave them too bright a bloom ! 

Mme. de Mon. Proceed ! 

Lau. Your wit 

Is of the true court breed — it plays with nothings ; 
Just bright enough to warm, but never burn — 
Excites the dull, but ne'er offends the vain. 
You have much energy ; it looks like feeling ! 
Your cold ambition seems an easy impulse ; 
Your head most ably counterfeits the heart, 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLlfcBE. 43 

But never, like the heart, betrays itself ! 

Oh ! you'll succeed at court ! — you see I know you ! 

Not so this new-made duchess — young La Valli&re. 

Mme. de Mon. The weak, fond fool ! 

Lau, Yes, weak — she has a heart ; 

Yet you, too, love the king ! 

Mme. de Mon. And she does not ! 

She loves but Louis — I but love the king : 
Pomp, riches, state, and power — these, who would love not? 

Lau. Bravo ! well said ! — Oh, you'll succeed at court ! 
I knew it well ! it was for this I chose you — 
Induced your sapient lord to waste no more 
Your beauty in the shade — for this prepared 
The duchess to receive you to her bosom, 
Her dearest friend ; for this have duly fed 
The king's ear with your praise, and clear'd your way 
To rule a sovereign and to share a throne. 

Mme. de Mon. I know thou hast been my architect of 
power ; 
And, when the pile is built — 

Lau. [with a smile]. Could still o'erthrow it, 

If thou couldst play the ingrate ! 

Mme. de Mon. I ! — nay ! 

Lau. Hear me ! 

Each must have need of each. Long live the king ! 
Still let his temples ache beneath the crown. 
But all that kings can give — wealth, rank, and power — 
Must be for us — the king's friend and his favourite. 

Mme. de Mon. But is it easy to supplant the duchess ? 
All love La Valliere ! Her meek nature shrinks 
Ev'n from our homage ; and she wears her state 
As if she pray'd the world to pardon greatness. 



44 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IIL 

Lau. And thus destroys herself ! At court, Athene, 
Vice, to win followers, takes the front of virtue, 
And looks the dull plebeian things called moral 
To scorn, until they blush to be unlike her. 
Why is De Lauzun not her friend ? Why plotting 
For a new rival 1 Why ?— Because De Lauzun 
Wins not the power he look'd for from her friendship ! 
She keeps not old friends ! — and she makes no new 

ones ! 
For who would be a friend to one who deems it 
A crime to ask his Majesty a favour 1 
" Friends " is a phrase at court that means Promotion ! 

Mme. de Mon. Her folly, I confess, would not be mine, 
But, grant her faults — the king still loves the duchess ! 

Lau. Since none are by, I'll venture on a treason, 
And say, the king 's a man ! — and men will change ! 
I have his ear, and you shall win his eye. 
'Gainst a new face, and an experienced courtier, 
What chance hath this poor, loving, simple woman 1 
Besides, she has too much conscience for a king ! 
He likes not to look up, and feel how low, 
Ev'n on the throne that overlooks the world, 
His royal greatness dwarfs beside that heart 
That never stoop'd to sin, save when it loved him ! 

Mme. de Mon. You're eloquent, my lord ! 

Lau. Ah ! of such natures 

You and I know but little ! — [.4siefe.] This must cease, 
Or I shall all disclose my real aims ! 
[Aloud.] The king is with the duchess ? 

Mme. de Mon. Yee. 

Lau. As yet 

She doth suspect you not 1 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1ERE. 40 

Mme. de Mon. Suspect ! — the puppet ! 

No ; but full oft, her head upon my bosom, 
Calls me her truest friend ! — invites me ever 
To amuse the king with my enlivening sallies, — 
And still breaks off, in sighing o'er the past, 
To wish her spirit were as blithe as mine, 
And fears her Louis wearies of her sadness. 

Lau. So, the plot ripens ! — ere the king came hither, 
I had prepared his royal pride to chafe 
At that sad face, whose honest sorrow wears 
Reproach unconsciously ! You'll learn the issue ! 
Now, then, farewell ! — We understand each other ! 

[Exit Lauzun. 

Mine, de Mon. And once I loved this man !— and still 
might love him, 
But that I love ambition ! Yes, my steps 
Now need a guide ; but once upon the height, 
And I will have no partner ! Thou, lord duke, 
With all thine insolent air of proud protection, 
Thou shalt wait trembling on my nod, and bind 
Thy fortune to my wheels ! O man ! — vain man I 
Well sung the poet, — when this power of beauty 
Heaven gave our sex, it gave the only sceptre 
Which makes the world a slave ! And I will wield it ! 

[Exit Mme. de Montespam. 



46 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. f ACT III. 



SCENE II. 

The scene opens and discovers the King, and the Duchess db la 
Valli£ke at chess. 

Louis. But one move more ! 

Buck, de la Vail. Not so ! I check the kins:. 

Louis. A vain attempt ! — the king is too well guarded ! 
There, — check again ! Your game is lost ! 

Duch. de la Vail. As usual, 

Ev'n from this mimic stage of war you rise 
Ever the victor, 

[They leave the table and advance. 

Louis. 'Twere a fairer fortune, 

My own Louise, to reconcile the vanquish'd ! 

Duch. de la Vail. \sadly\. My best-loved Louis ! 

Louis. Why so sad a tone ? 

Nay, smile, Louise ! — Love thinks himself aggrieved 
If Care casts shadows o'er the heart it seeks 
To fill with cloudless sunshine ! Smile, Louise ! 
Ev'n unkind words were kinder than sad looks. 
There — now thou gladd'st me ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Yet ev'n thou, methought, 

Didst wear, this morn, a brow on which the light 
Shone less serenely than its wont ! 

Louis. This morn ! 

Ay, it is true ! — this morn I heard that France 
Hath lost a subject monarchs well might mourn ! 
Oh ! little know the world how much a king, 



SCENE II.] TIIE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 47 

Whose life is past in purchasing devotion, 

Loses in one who merited all favour 

And scorn to ask the least ! A king, Louise, 

Sees but the lackeys of mankind. The true 

Lords of our race — the high chivalric hearts — 

Nature's nobility — alas, are proud, 

And stand aloof, lest slaves should say they natter ! 

Of such a mould was he whom France deplores. 

Duch. de la Vail. Tell me his name, that I, with thee, 
may mourn him. 

Louis. A noble name, but a more noble bearer ; 
Not to be made by, but to make, a lineage. 
Once, too, at Dunkirk, 'twixt me and the foe, 
He thrust his gallant breast, already seamed 
With warrior-wounds, and his blood flow'd for mine. 
Dead ! — his just merits all unrecompensed ! — 
Obscured, like sun-light, by the suppliant clouds ! 
He should have died a marshal ! Death did wrong 
To strike so soon ! Alas, brave Bragelone ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Ha ! — did I hear aright, my liege — 
my Louis 1 
That name — that name ! — thou saidst not " Bragelone " ? 

Louis. Such was his name, not often heard at court. 
Thou didst not know him ? What ! thou art pale ! thou 

weepest ! — 
Thou art ill ! Louise, look up ! 

[He leads her to a seat, 

Duch. de la Vail. Be still, Conscience ! 

I did not slay him ! — Died too soon ! Alas ! 
He should have died with all his hopes unblighted, 
Ere I was — what I am ! 

Louis. What mean these words I 



48 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

Buck, de la Vail. How did death strike him 1 — what 
disease 1 

Louis. I know n©t. 

He had retired from service ; and in peace 
Breathed out his soul to some remoter sky ! 
France only guards his fame ! What was he to thee 
That thou shouldst weep for him 1 

Duch. de la Vail. Hast thou ne'er heard 

We were betrothed in youth 1 

Louis [agitated and aside]. Lauzun speaks truth ! 
I'd not her virgin heart — she loved another ! 
[Aloud.] Betrothed ! You mourn him deeply ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Sire, I do. 

That broken heart ! — I was its dream — its idol ! 
And with regret is mingled — what repentance 1 

Louis [coldlv]. Repentance, madam ! Well, the word 
is gracious ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Pardon ! oh, pardon ! But the blow 
was sudden ; 
How can the heart play courtier with remorse 1 

Louis. Remorse ! — again. Why be at once all honest, 
And say you love me not ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Not love you, Louis 1 

Louis. Not if you feel repentance to have loved ! 

Duch. de la Vail. What ! think'st thou, Louis, I should 
love thee more 
Bid I love virtue less, or less regret it 1 

Louis. I pray you truce with these heroic speeches ; 
They please us in romance — in life they weary. 

Duch. de la Vail. Louis, do I deserve this 1 

Louis. Rather, lady, 

Do / deserve the mute reproach of sorrow ? 



SCENE 1L] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 49> 

Still less these constant, never-soothed complaints — 
This waiting- woman jargon of " lost virtue" 

Buck, de la Vail. Sire, this from you ! 

Louis. Why, oft, could others hear thee, 

Well might they deem thee some poor village Phcebe, 
Whom her false Lubin had deceived, and left, 
Hobb'd of her only dower ! and not the great 
Duchess la "Valliere, in our realm of France 
Second to none but our anointed race , 
The envy of the beauty and the birth 
Of Europe's court — our city of the world ! 
Is it so great disgrace, Louise la Yalliere, 
To wear, unrivall'd, in thy breast, *he heart 
Of Bourbon's latest, nor her least, of kings % 

Buck, de la Vail. Sire, when you deigned to love me, I 
had hoped 
You knew the sunshine of your royal favour 
Had fallen on a lowly flower. Let others 
Deem that the splendour consecrates the sin ! 
I'd loved thee with as pure and proud a love, 
If thou hadst been the poorest cavalier 
That ever served a king — thou know'st it, Louis ! 

Louis. I would not have it so ! my fame, my glory, 
The purple and the orb, are part of me j 
And thou shouldst love them for my sake, and feel 
I were not Louis were I less the king. 
Still weeping ! Fie ! I tell thee tears freeze back 
The very love I still would bear to thee ! 

Buck, de la Vail. " Would still ! " — didst thou say 
" still ? " 

Louis. Come, lady ! 

I Woman, to keep her empire o'er the heart, 

E 



50 THE DUCHESS HE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

Must learn its nature — mould unto its bias — 
And rule by never differing from our humours. 

Buck, de la Vail. I'll school my features, teach my lips 
to smile, 
Be all thou wilt ; but say not " still" dear Louis ! 

Louis. Well, well ! no further words ; let peace be 
with us. 
[Aside.] By Heaven, she weeps with yet intenser 

passion ! 
It must be that she loved this Bragelone, 
And mourns the loftier fate that made her mine \ 
[Aloud.] This gallant soldier, madam, your betrothed, 
Hath some share in your tears ? 

Duck, de la Vail. Oh, name him not ; 

jVJfy tears are all unworthy dews to fall 
Upon a tomb so honour'd ! 

Louis. Grant me patience ! 

These scenes are very tedious, fair La Yalliere. 
In truth, we kings have, in the council-chamber, 
Enough to make us tearful ; — in the bower 
We would have livelier subjects to divert us. 

Buck, de la Vail. Again forgive me ! I am sick at 
heart ; 
I pray you pardon ; — these sad news have marr'd 
The music of your presence, and have made me 
Fit but for solitude. I pray you, sire, 
Let me retire ; and when again I greet you, 
I'll wear the mien you'd have me ! 

Louis. Be it so ! 

Let me no more disturb you from your thoughts ; 
They must be sad. So brave — and your betrothed ! 
Your grief becomes you. 



SCEKE III.] THE DUCIT£9S DE LA. VALLIERE. 51 

Buck, de la Vail. You forgive me, Louis ? 
We do not part unkiudly ? 

Louis. Fair one, no ? 

[Exit La Valliere. 

Louis. She was my first love, and my fondest. — Was t 
Alas, the word must come ! — I love her yet, 
But love wanes glimmering to that twilight — friendship ! 
Grant that she never loved this Bragelone ; 
Still, tears and sighs make up dull interludes 
In passion's short-lived drama ! She is good, 
Gentle, and meek, — and I do think she loves me, 
(A truth no king is sure of ! ) — But, in fine, 
I have begun to feel the hours are long 
Pass'd in her presence ! what I hotly sought, 
Coldly I weary of. I'll seek De Lauzun : 
I like his wit — I almost like his knavery ; 
It never makes us yawn, like high-flown virtues. 
Thirst, hunger, rest — these are the wants of peasants : 
A courtier's wants are titles, place, and gold ; 
But a poor king, who has these wants so sated, 
Has only one want left — to be amused ! 

[Exit Louis. 



SCENE III. 

Be- enter the Duchess de la Valliere. 

Duck, de la Vail. Louis ! dear Louis ! — Gone ! alas I 
and left me 
Half in displeasure ! — I was wrong, methinks, 



62 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

To — no ! — I was not wrong to feel remorse, 
But wrong to give it utterance ! 

Enter Madame de Montespan. 

Mme. de Mon. What ! alone, 
Fair friend 1 I thought the king 

Buck de la Vail. Has gone, in anger ; 

Cold, and in anger. 

Mme. de Mon. What, with thee, dear lady ? 
On i-he smooth surface of that angel meekness 
I should have thought no angry breath could linger. 
But men and kings are 

Buck, de la Vail. Hush ! I was to blame. 

The king's all goodness. Shall I write to him 1 
Letters have not our looks — and, oh, one look ! 
How many hardest hearts one look hath won, 
A life consumed in words had woo'd in vain ! 

Mme. de. Mon. To-night there is high revel at the 
court ; 
There you may meet your truant king. 

Buck, de la Vail. To-night 1 

An age ! — How, many hours to night 1 

Mme. de Mon. You know 

My office makes my home the royal palace ; 
I serve the queen, and thus shall see your Louis 
Ere the sun set. 

Buck, de la Vail. You ! — happy you ! 

Mme. de Mon. Perchance 

(The king is ever gracious to your friends, 
And knows me of the nearest), I might whisper, 
Though with less sweet a tone, your message to him, 
And be your dove, and bear you back the olive ? 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 53 

Duch. de la Vail. My kind Athene" ! 

Mme. de Mori. Nay, 'tis yours the kindness, 

To wear my love so near your heart. But, tell me, 
Since you accept my heraldry, the cause 
Of strife between you in this court of love. 

Duch. de la Vail. Alas ! I know not, save that T 
offended ! 
The wherefore boots the heart that loves to know 1 

Mme. de Mori. Not much, I own, the poor defendant — 
woman, 
But much the advocate ; I need the brief. 

Duch. de la Vail. Methinks his kingly nature chafes to 
see 
It cannot rule the conscience as the heart ; 
But, tell him, ever henceforth I will keep 
Sad thoughts for lonely hours. — Athene, tell him, 
That if he smile once more upon Louise, 
The smile shall never pass from that it shines on ; 
Say — but I'll write myself. 

[Sits down to the table and writes. 

Mme. de Mon. [aside]. What need of schemes — 
Lauzun's keen wit — Athene's plotting spirit ? 
She weaves herself the web that shall ensnare her ! 

Duch. de la Vail. There ; back these feeble words with 
all thy beauty, 
Thy conquering eyes, and thy bewitching smile. 
Sure never suit can fail with such a pleader ! 
And now a little while to holier sadness, 
And thine accusing memory, Bragelone ! 

Mme. de Mon. Whom speak you of? — the hero of the 
Fronde 1 
Who seem'd the last ofthe old Norman race, 



61 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

And half preserved to this degenerate age 
The lordly shape the ancient Bayards wore ! 

Buck de la Vail. You praise him well ! He was my 
father's friend, 
And should have been his son. "We were affianced, 
And — but no more S Ah ! cruel, cruel Louis ! 
You mourn'd for him — how much more cause have / / 
Mine, de Men. [quickly]. What ! he is dead ? your grief 
the king resented 1 
Knew he your troth had thus been plighted 1 

Duch. de la Vail. Yes : 

And still he seem'd to deem it sin to mourn him ! 

Mme. de Mon. \aside\ A clue — another clue — that I 
will follow, 
Until it lead me to the throne ! — [.iZowd.] Well, cheer 

thee; 
Trust your true friend ; rely on my persuasion. 
Methinks I never task'd its powers till now. 
Farewell, and fear not ! Oh ! I'll plead your cause, 
As if myself the client ! — [.isicfe.] Thou art sentenced ! 
[Exit Madame de Montespan. 
Duch. de la Vail. 'Tis a sweet solace still to have a 
friend — 
A friend in woman ! Oh, to what a reed 
We bind our destinies, when man we love ! 
Peace, honour, conscience lost — if I lose him, 
What have I left 1 How sinks my heart within me ! 
I'll to my chamber ; there the day of tears 
Lends night its smile ! And Fm the thing they envy ! 

[Exit Duchess de la Valliebe, 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 66 



SCENE IV. 

TJie Gardens oj Versailles — Lauzux, Gkammont, and Courtiers. 

Lau. 'Tis now the hour in which our royal master 
Honours the ground of his rejoicing gardens 
By his illustrious footsteps ! — there, my lords, 
That is the true style-courtier ! 

Gram. Out upon you ! 

Your phrase would suit some little German prince, 
Of fifteen hundred quarterings and five acres, 
And not the world's great Louis ! 'Tis the hour 
When Phoebus shrinks abash'd, and all the stars 
Envy the day that it beholds the king ! 

Enter Louis. 

Louis. My lords, 

Pray you be cover'd. Hark ye, dear De Lauzun. 

{Exeunt the Courtiers, as the King takes Lauzun aside 
The fair De Montespan 1 

Lau. Is worth the loving ; 

And, by mine honour, while we speak she comes ! 
A happy fortune. Sire, may I withdraw 1 [ExU. 

Enter Madame de Montespan. [Salutes the King 
and passes on.] 

Louis. Fair madam, we had hoped you with you brought 
Some bright excuse to grace our cheerless presence 
With a less short-lived light ! You dawn upon us 
Only to make us more regret your setting. 



56 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

Mme de Mori. Sire, if I dared, I would most gladly hail 
A few short moments to arrest your presence, 
And rid me of a soft, yet painful duty. 

Louis. 'Tis the first time, be sure, so sweet a voice 
E'er craved a sanction for delighting silence. 
Speak on, we pray thee ! 

Mine, de Mon. Gracious sire, the duchess, 

Whom you have lately left, she fears, in anger, 
Besought me to present this letter to you. 

Louis [takes the letter, and aside]. She blushes while she 
speaks ! — 'Tis passing strange, 
I ne'er remark'd those darkly-dreaming eyes, 
That melt in their own light ! 

[Reads, and carelessly puts up the letter. 
It scarcely suits 
Her dignity, and ours, to choose a witness 
To what hath chanced between us. She is good , 
But her youth, spent in some old country castle, 
Knows not the delicate spirit of a court. 

Mme. de Mon. She bade me back her suit. Alas ! my 
liege, 
"Who can succeed, if fair La Valliere fail 1 

Louis. She bade thee 1 — she was prudent ! Were / 
woman, 
And loved, I'd not have chosen such a herald. 

Mme. de Mon. Love varies in its colours with all tern* 
pers ; 
The duchess is too proud to fear a rival, 
Too beautiful to find one. May I take 
Some word of comfort back to cheer her sadness, 
Made doubly deep by thoughts of your displeasure, 
And grief for a dear friend ? 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 57 

Louis. Ay, that's the sadness ! 

Mme. de Mon. He was a gallant lord, tins Bragelone, 
And her betrothed. Perchance in youth she loved him, 
Ere the great sun had quench'd the morning star ! 

Louis. She loved him ! — think'st thou so 1 

Mme. de Mon. Indeed I know not ; 

But I have heard her eloquent in praise, 
And seen her lost in woe. You will forgive her ! 

Louis. Forgive her 1 — there's no cause ! 

Mme. de Mon. Now, bless you, sire, 

For that one word. My task is done. 

Louis. Already 1 

Mme. de Mon. What can I more % Oh, let me hasten 
back ! 
"What rapture must be hers who can but fill 
An atom of the heart of godlike Louis ! 
How much more the whole soul ! — To lose thy love 
Must be, not grief, but some sublime despair, 
Like that the Roman felt who lost a world ! 

Louis [aside]. By Heaven, she fires me ! — a brave, 
royal spirit, 
Worthy to love a king ! 

Mme. de Mon. To know thee hers, 

What pride ! — what glory ! Though all earth cried 

"Shame!" 
Earth could not still the trumpet at her heart, 
That, with its swelling and exultant voice, 
Told her the earth was but the slave of Louis, 
And she the partner ! And, O hour of dread ! 
When (for the hour must come) some fairer form 
Shall win thee from her — still, methinks, 'twould be 
A boast to far posterity to point 



58 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. |_ACT III. 

To all the trophies piled about thy throne, 

And say — " He loved me once !" — O sire, your pardon ; 

I am too bold. 

Louis. Why, this were love, indeed, 

Could we but hope to win it. And such love 
Would weave the laurel in its wreaths of myrtle. 
Beautiful lady ! while thou speak'st, I dream 
"What love should be, — and feel where love is not ! 
Thou com'st the suitor, to remain the judge ; 
And I could kneel to thee for hope and mercy. 

Mme. de Mon. Ah, no ! — ah, no ! — she is my friend. 
And if 
She love not as I love — I mean, I might love — 
Still she believes she loves thee. Tempt me not. 
Who could resist thee ! Sire, farewell ! 

[Exit Madame deMontespan. 

Louis. Her voice 

Is hush'd ; but still its queen-like music lingers 
In my rapt ears. I dreamt Louise had loved me ; 
She who felt love disgrace ! Before the true, 
How the tame counterfeit grows pale and lifeless. 
By the sad brow of yon devout La Valliere 
I feel a man, and fear myself a culprit ! 
But this high sjDirit wakes in mine the sense 
Of what it is — I am that Louis whom 
The world has called " The Great ! " — and in her pride 
Mirror mine own. This jaded life assumes 
The zest, the youth, the glory of excitement ! 
To-night we meet again ; — speed fast, dull hours ! 

[Exit Louis. 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 69 



SCENE V. 

Grand Saloon in the Palace of Versailles — in the background the suite 
of apartments is seen in perspective— Courtiera, Ladies, &c. 

First Cour. [approaching the Buck de la Vail.]. Madam, 

your goodness is to France a proverb ! 
If I might dare request, this slight memorial 
You would convey to our most gracious master ? 
The rank of colonel in the royal guard 
Is just now vacant. True, I have not served; 
But I do trust my valour is well-known : 
I've kill'd three noted swordsmen in a duel ! — 
And, for the rest, a word from you were more 
Than all the laurels Holland gave to others. 

Buck de la Vail. My lord, forgive me ! I might ill 

deserve 
The friendship of a monarch, if, forgetting 
That honours are the attributes of merit ; — 
And they who sell the service of the public 
For the false coin, soft smiles and honey'd words 
Forged in the antechambers of a palace, 
Defraud a people to degrade a king ! 
If you have merits, let them plead for you ; 
Nor ask in whispers what you claim from justice. 

Mme. de Mon. [to first Courtier, as the Duch. de la Vail. 

turns away]. Give me the paper. Hush ! the king 

shall see it ! 

[Music. 



CO THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

Enter the King, Grammont, and other Courtiers. He 

l>auses by the QuiJen, and accosts Iter respectfully 

in dumb show. 

Gram, [aside]. Wkh what a stately and sublime decorum 
His majesty throws grandeur o'er his foibles ! 
He not disguises vice ; but makes vice kingly — 
Most gorgeous of all sensualists ! 

Lau. How different 

His royal rival in the chase of pleasure, 
The spendthrift, sauntering Second Charles of England ! 

Gram. Ay, Jove to Comus ! 

Lau. Silence ! Jove approaches ! 

[The crowd breaks up into groups ; the King passes slowly 
from each till he joins the Duchess de la Valllebe ; 
the Courtiers retire. 

Louis. Why, this is well. I thank you. 

Buck, de la Vail, And forgive me % 

Louis. Forgive you ! You mistake me : wounded feeling 
Is not displeasure. Let this pass, Louise. 
Your lovely friend has a most heavenly smile ! 

Buck, de la Vail. And a warm heart. In truth, my 
liege, I'm glad 
You see her with my eyes. 

Louis. You have no friend 

Whose face it glads me more to look upon. 

[Aside, and gazing on Montespan. 
(What thrilling eyes !) — [.Ifo^c?.] My thanks are due to 

her, 
For, with the oil of her mellifluous voice, 
Smoothing the waves the passing breeze had ruffled. 

{Joins Madame de Montespan, and leads her through the 
crowd to the bach of the stage. 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 61 

Lau. Your grace resolves no more to be content 
Eclipsing others. You eclipse yourself. 

Duch. de la Vail. I thought you were a friend, and not 
a flatterer. 

Lau. Friendship would lose its dearest privilege 
If friendship were forbidden to admire ! 
Why, ev'n the king admires your grace's friend, — 
Told me to-day she was the loveliest lady 
The court could boast. Nay, see how, while they speak, 
He gazes on her. How his breathing fans 
The locks that shade the roses of her cheek ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Ha ! Nay, be still, my heart. 

Lau. It is but friendship ; 

But it looks wondrous warm ! 

Duch. de la Vail. He cannot mean it ! 

And yet — and yet — he lingers on her hand — 
He whispers ! 

Lau. How the gossips gaze and smile ! 

There'll be much scandal. 

Duch de la Vail. Lauzun ! — what ! — thou think'st not — 
No, no, thou canst not think 

Lau. That courts know treachery, 

That women are ambitious, or men false ; 
I will not think it. Pshaw ! 

Duch. de la Vail. My brain swims round ! 

Louis, of late, hath been so changed. How fair 
She looks to-night ! — and, oh, she has not fallen ! 
He comes — he nears us — he has left her. Fie ! 
My foolish fancies wronged him ! 

Lau. The spell works. 

Mme. de Mon. [as the king quits her, to First Courtier, 
giving him back the paper]. My lord, your suit is 
granted. 



62 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 

First Cour. . Blessings, madam ! 

[The other Courtiers come round him. 

Second Cour. Her influence must be great. I know 
three dukes 
Most pressing for the post. 

Third Cour. A rising sun, 

Worthier of worship than that cold La Valliere. 
The king as well, methinks, might have no mistress, 
As one by whom no courtier grew the richer. 

[The Courtiers group round Madame de Montespan. 

Louis. My lords, you do remember the bright lists 
Which, in the place termed thenceforth " The Carrousel" * 
We sometime held ? — a knightly tournament, 
That brought us back the age of the first Francis ! 

Lau. Of all your glorious festivals, the greatest ! 
Who but remembers 1 

Duch. de la Vail. [Aside]. Then he wore my colours. 
How kind to bring back to my yearning heart 
That golden spring-time of our early loves ! 

Louis. Next week we will revive the heroic pageant. 
Proud plumes shall wave, and levell'd spears be shiver'd ; 
Ourself will take the lists, and do defy 
The chivalry of our renowned France, 
In honour of that lady of our court 
For whom we wear the colours, and the motto 
Which suits her best — " Most bright where all are bril- 
liant ! ' 

* The Place clu Carrousel was so named from a splendid festival 
given by Louis. On the second day, devoted to knightly games, 
the king, who appeared in the character of Roger, carried off four 
prizes. All the crown jewels were prodigalized on his arms and the 
trappings of his horse. 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 63 

Gram. Oh, a most kingly notion ! 

Louis. Ere we part, 

Let each knight choose his colours and his lady. 
Ourself have set the example. 

[TJie Courtiers mingle with the Ladies, &c, many Ladies 
give their colours. 

Duch. de la Vail, [timidly]. Oh, my Louis ! 
I read thy heart ; thou hast chosen this device 
To learn thy poor La Valliere to be proud. 
Nay, turn not from my blessings. Once before 
You wore my colours, though I gave them not. 
To-night I give them \ — Louis loves me still ! 

[Takes one of the knots from her breast, and presents it. 
Louis. Lady, the noblest hearts in France would beat 
More high beneath your badge. Alas ! my service 
Is vow'd already here. 

\Tuming to Madame de Montespan, and placing a knot 
of her colours over his order of the Saint Esprit. 
These are my colours ! 
Duch. de la Vail. How ! How ! 

[The King converses apart with Madame de Montespan. 
Lau. [to the Duch. de la Vail.] Be calm, your grace ; a 
thousand eyes 
Are on you. Give the envious crowd no triumph. 
Ah ! had my fortune won so soft a heart 
I would have 

Duch. de la Vail, Peace 1—- Away ! Betray'd !— Un- 
done ! 



64 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IT, 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 

The Gardens at Versailles. 
Enter Lauzun. 

Lau. So far, so prosperous ! From the breast of Louis, 
The blooming love it bore so long a summer 
Falls like a fruit o'er-ripe ; and, in the court, 
And o'er the king, this glittering Montespan 
Queens it without a rival, — awes all foes, 
And therefore makes all friends. State, office, honours, 
Reflect her smile, or fade before her frown. 
So far, so well ! Enough for Montespan. 
For Lauzun now ! — I love this fair La Valliere, 
As well, at least, as woman's worth the loving ; 
And if the jewel has one trifling flaw, 
The gold 'tis set in will redeem the blemish. 
The king's no niggard lover ; and her wealth 
Is vast. I have the total in my tablets — 
(Besides estates in Picardy and Provence.) 
I'm very poor — my debtors very pressing. 
I've robb'd the duchess of a faithless lover, 
To give myself a wife, and her a husband. 
Wedlock's a holy thing, — and wealth a good one ! 

Enter Louis. 

Louis. The day is long — I have not seen AthenS. 
Pleasure is never stagnant in her presence ; 
But every breeze of woman's changeful skies 
Kipples the stream, and freshens e'en the sunshine. 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 65* 

Lau. "lis said, your Majesty, " that contrast's sweet," 
And she you speak of well contrasts another. 
Whom once 

Louis. I loved ; and still devoutly honour. 

This poor La Valliere ! — could we will affection, 
I would have never changed. And even now 
I feel Athene has but charm'd my senses, 
And my void heart still murmurs for Louise ! 
I would we could be friends, since now not lovers, 
Nor dare be happy while I know her wretched. 

Lau. "Wearies she still your Majesty with prayers, 
Tender laments, and passionate reproaches ? 

Louis. Her love outlives its hopes. 

Lau. An irksome task 

To witness tears we cannot kiss away, 
And with cold friendship freeze the ears of love ! 

Louis. Most irksome and most bootless ! 

Lau. Haply, sire. 

In one so pure, the charm of wedded life 
Might lull keen griefs to rest, and curb the love 
Thou fliest from to the friendship that thou seekest f 

Louis. I've thought of this. The Duke de Longueville 
loves her, 
And hath besought before her feet to lay 
His princely fortunes. 

Lau. [quickly]. Ha ! — and she — 

Louis. Rejects him. 

Lau. Sire, if love's sun, once set, bequeaths a twilight, 
'T would only hover o'er some form whom chance 
Had link'd with Louis — some one (though unworthy) 
AVhose presence took a charm from brighter thoughts 
That knit it with the past. 

F 



66 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV. 

Louis. Why, how now, duke ! — 

Thou speak'st not of thyself? 

Lau. I dare not, sire ! 

Louis. Ha, ha ! — poor Lauzun ! — what ! the soft La 
Valliere 
Transfer her sorrowing heart to thee ! Ha, ha ! 

Lau. My name is not less noble than De Longueville's ; 
My glory greater, since the world has said 
Louis esteems me more. 

Louis. Esteems /No ;— favours ! 

And thou dost think that she, who shrunk from love, 
Lest love were vice, would wed the wildest lord 
That ever laugh'd at virtue ? 

Lau. Sire, you wiong me, 
Or else you (pardon me) condemn yourselt. 
Is it too much for one the king calls friend 
To aspire to one the king has call'd 

Louis. Sir, hold ! 

I never so malign'd that hapless lady 
As to give her the title only due 
To such as Montespan, who glories in it — 
The last my mistress ; but the first my victim : 
A nice distinction, taught not in your logic, 
Which, but just now, confused esteem and favour. 
Go to ! we kings are not the dupes you deem us. 

Lau. [aside]. So high ! I'll win La Valliere to avenge me, 
And humble this imperial vanity. 
[^&wag?.] Sire, I offend ! Permit me to retire, 
And mourn your anger ; nor presume to guess 
Whence came the cause. And^since it seems your favour 
Made me aspire too high, in that I loved 
Where you, sire, made love noble, and half-dream'd 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1ERE. 67 

Might be — nay, am not — wholly there disdain'd — 

Louis. How, duke ? 

Lau. I do renounce at once 

The haughty vision. Sire, permit my absence. 

Louis. Lauzun, thou hintest that, were suit allow'd thee, 
La ValliSre might not scorn it ; — is it so ? 

Lau. I crave your pardon, sire. 

Louis. Must I ask twice % 

Lau. I do believe, then, sire, with time and patience, 
The duchess might be won to — not reject me ! 

Louis. Go, then, and prove thy fortune. We permit 
thee. 
And, if thou prosperest, why then love's a riddle, 
And woman is — no matter ! Go, my lord ! 
We did not mean to wound thee. So, forget it ! 
Woo when thou wilt — and wear what thou canst win. 

Lau. My gracious liege, Lauzun commends him to thee ; 
And if one word, he merit not, may wound him, 
He'll think of favours words can never cancel. 
Memory shall med'cine to his present pain. 
God save you, sire ! — [,4sie/e] to be the dupe I deem you ! 

[Exit Lauzun. 

Louis. I love her not ; and yet, methinks, am jealous ! 
Lauzun is wise and witty — knows the sex ; 
What if she do 1 — No ! I will not believe it. 
And what is she to me ? — a friend — a friend ! 
And I would have her wed. 'Twere best for both — 
A balm for conscience — an excuse for change ! 
'Twere best : — I marvel much if she'll accept him ! 

[Exit Louis. 



f 2 



68 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV. 



SCENE II. 
A Private Apartment in the Palace of the Duchess de la Valliebe. 

Enter the Duchess de la Valliere. 

Dwelt, de la Vail. He loves me, then, no longer ! All 
the words 
Earth knows shape but one thought — "He loves no 

longer ! " 
Where shall I turn ? My mother — my poor mother ! 
Sleeps the long sleep ! 'Tis better so ! Her life 
Ran to its lees. I will nut mourn for her. 
But it is hard to be alone on earth ! 
This love, for which I gave so much, is dead, 
Save in my heart ; and love, surviving love, 
Changes its nature, and becomes despair ! 
Ah, me ! — ah, me ! how hateful is this world ! 
Enter Gentleman of the Chamber. 

Gent. The Duke de Lauzun ! 

Duch. de la Vail. News, sweet news, of Louis ! 

Enter Lauzun. 

Lau. Dare I disturb your thoughts ? 

Duch. de la Vail. My lord, you're welcome ! 

Came you from court to-day 1 

Lau. I left the king 

But just now, in the gardens. 

Duch. de la Vail, [eagerly]. Well ! 

Lau. He bore him 

With his accustom'd health f 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1KRE, 69 

Duck de la ValL Proceed. 

Lau. Dear lady, 

I have no more to tell. 

Ducli. de la Vail, [aside]. Alas ! No message ! 

Lau. We did converse, 'tis true, upon a subject 
Most dear to one of us. Your grace divines it 1 

Duck de la Vail, [joyfully]. Was it of me he spoke ? 

Lau. Of you 

/ spoke, and he replied. I praised your beauty — 

Duck de la Vail. You praised ! 

Lau. Your form, your face — that wealth of mind 

Which, play'd you not the miser, and conceal'd it, 
Would buy up all the coins that pass for wit. 
The king, assenting, wish'd he might behold you 
As happy — as your virtues should have made you. 

Duck de la Vail. 'Twas said in mockery ! 

Lau. Lady, no ! — in kindness. 

Nay, more (he added), would you yet your will 
Mould to his wish — 

Duck de la Vail. His wish ! — the lightest ! 

Lau. Ah ! 

You know not how my heart throbs while you speak ! 
Be not so rash to promise ; or, at least, 
Be faithful to perform ! 

Duck de la Vail. You speak in riddles. 

Lau. Of your lone state and beautiful affections, 
Form'd to make Home an Eden, our good king, 
Tenderly mindful, fain would see you link 
Your lot to one whose love might be your shelter. 
He spake, and all my long-conceal'd emotions 
Gush'd into words, and I confess'd — lady, 
Hear me confess once more — how well I love thee ! 



70 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV. 

Buck, de la Vail. You dared ? — and he — the king — 

Lau. Upon me smiled, 

And bade me prosper. 

Buck, de la Vail. Ah ! 

[Sinks down, and covers her face with her hands. 

Lau. Nay, nay, look up ! 

The heart that could forsake a love like thine 
Doth not deserve regret. Look up, dear lady ! 

Duch. de la Vail. He bade thee prosper ! 

Lau. Pardon ! My wild hope 

Outran discretion. 

JDuch. de la Vail. Louis bade thee prosper ! 

Lau. Ah, if this thankless — this remorseless love 
Thou couldst forget ! Oh, give me but thy friendship, 
And take respect, faith, worship, all, in Lauzun ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Consign me to another ! Well, 'tis 
well ! 
Earth's latest tie is broke ! — earth's hopes are over ! 

Lau. Speak to me, sweet Louise ! 

Duch. de la Vail. So, thou art he 

To whom this shatter'd heart should be surrender'd 1 — 
And thou, the high-born, glittering, scornful Lauzun, 
Wouldst take the cast-off leman of a king, 
Nor think thyself disgraced ! Fie ! — fie ! thou'rt shame- 
less ! 

Lau. You were betray'd by love, and not by sin, 
Nor low ambition. Your disgrace is honour 
. By the false side of dames the world calls spotless. 

Duch. de la Vail. Go, sir, nor make me scorn you. If 
I've err'd, 
I know, at least, the majesty of virtue, 
And feel — what you forget. 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 71 

Lau. Yet hear me, madam ! 

Duck, de la Vail. Go, go ! You are the king's friend— 
you were mine ; 
I would not have you thus debased — refused 
By one at once the fallen and forsaken ! 
His friend shall not be shamed so ! 

[Exit the Duch. de la Valliere. 

Lau. [passing his hand over his eyes']. I do swear 
These eyes are moist ! And he who own'd this gem 
Casts it away, and cries " divine " to tinsel ! 
So falls my hope. My fortunes call me back 
To surer schemes. Before that ray of goodness 
How many plots shrunk, blinded, into shadow ! 
Lauzun forgot himself, and dreamt of virtue ! 

[Exit Lauzun. 



SCENE III. 

Gentleman of the Chamber, and Bragelone, as a 
Franciscan Jriar. 

Gent. The duchess gone ! I fear me that, to-day. 
You are too late for audience, reverend father. 

JBrage. Audience ! — a royal phrase ! — it suits the 
duchess. 
Go, son j announce me. 

Gent. By what name, my father ? 

Brage. I've done with names. Announce a nameless 
monk, 
Whose prayers have risen o'er some graves she honours. 

Gent, [aside]. My lady is too lavish of her bounty 



72 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV, 

To these proud shavelings : yet, methinks, this friar 
Hath less of priest than warrior in his bearing. 
He awes me with his stern and thrilling voice, 
His stately gesture, and imperious eye. 
And yet, I swear, he comes for alms ! — the varlet ! 
Why should I heed him ? 

Brage. Didst thou hear ? Begone ! 

[Exit Gentleman. 
Yes, she will know me not. My lealest soldier, 
One who had march'd, bare-breasted, on the steel, 
If I had bid him cast away the treasure 
Of the o'er-valued life ; the nurse that rear'd me, 
Or mine own mother, in these shroudlike robes, 
And in the immature and rapid age 
Which, from my numb'd and withering heart, hath crept 
Unto my features, now might gaze upon me, 
And pass the stranger by. Why should she know me, 
If. they who loved me know not % Hark ! I hear her : 
That silver footfall ! — still it hath to me 
Its own peculiar and most spiritual music, 
Trembling along the pulses of the air, 
And dying on the heart that makes its echo ! 
'Tis she ! How lovely yet ! 

Enter the Duchess de la Valliere. 

Duch. de la Vail. Your blessing, father. 

Brage. Let courts and courtiers bless the favour'd 
duchess : 
Courts bless the proud ; Heaven's ministers, the humble. 
Duch. de la Vail. He taunts me, this poor friar ! Well, 
my father, 
I have obey'd your summons. Do you seek 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE, 73 

Masses for souls departed ? — or the debt 
The wealthy owe the poor 1 — say on ! 

Brage. [aside]. Her heart 

Is not yet harden'd ! Daughter, such a mission 
Were sweeter than the task which urged me hither : 
You had a lover once — a plain, bold soldier ; 
He loved you well ! 

Duck, de la Vail. Ah, Heaven ! 

Brage. And you forsook bin]. 

Your choice was natural — some might call it noble ! 
And this blunt soldier pardon'd the desertion, 
But sunk at what his folly term'd dishonour. 

Duch. de la Vail. O father, spare me ! — if dishonour 
were, 
It rested but with me. 

Brage. So deem'd the world, 

But not that foolish soldier ! — he had learn'd 
To blend his thoughts, his fame, himself, with thee ; 
Thou wert a purer, a diviner self ; 
He loved thee as a warrior worships glory ; 
He loved thee as a JRoman honour'd virtue ; 
He loved thee as thy sex adore ambition ; 
And when Pollution breathed upon his idol, 
It blasted glorv, virtue, and ambition, 
Fill'd up each crevice in the world of thought, 
And poison'd earth with thy contagious shame ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Spare me ! in mercy, spare me ! 

Brage. This poor fool, 

This shadow, living only on thy light, 
When thou wert darken'd, could but choose to die. 
He left the wars ; no fame, since thine was dim : 
He left his land ; — what home without Louise % 



f 4 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IT, 

It broke — that stubborn, stern, unbending heart — 
It broke ! and, breaking, its last sigh — forgave thee ! 

Duck, de la Vail. And I live on ! 

Brage. One eve, methinks, he told me, 

Thy hand around his hauberk wound a scarf ; 
And thy voice bade him " Wear it for the sake 
Of one who honour' d worth ! " Were those the words ? 

Duck, de la Vail. They were. Alas ! alas ! 

Brage. He wore, it lady, 

Till memory ceased. It was to him the token 
Of a sweet dream ; and, from his quiet grave, 
He sends it now to thee. — Its hues are faded. 

fiuch. de la Vail. Give it me !— let me bathe it with 
my tears ! 
Memorial of my guilt — 

Brage. [in a soft and tender accent]. And his forgive- 



Duch. de la VaU. That tone ! ha ! while thou speakest, 
in thy voice, 
And in thy presence, there is something kindred 
To him we jointly mourn : thou art — 

Brage. His brother : 

Of whom, perchance, in ancient years he told thee ; 
Who, early wearied of this garish world, 
Fled to the convent-shade, and found repose. 

JDuch. de la VaU. [approaching]. Ay, is it so 1 — thou'rt 
Bragelone's brother 1 
Why, then, thou art what he would be, if living — 
A friend to one most friendless ! 

Brage. Friendless — Ay, 

Thou hast learnt, betimes, the truth, that man's wiltf 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 75 

Makes but its sport of virtue, peace, affection ; 
i And breaks the plaything when the game is done ! 
I Friendless ! — I pity thee ! 

Buck, de la Vail. Oh ! holy father, 

Stay with me ! — succour me ! — reprove, but guide me : 
1 Teach me to wean my thoughts from earth to heaven, 
And be what God ordain'd his chosen priests — 
: Foes to our sin, but friends to our despair. 

Brage. Daughter, a heavenly and a welcome duty, 
; But one most rigid and austere : there is 
i No composition with our debts of sin. 
God claims thy soul ; and, lo ! his creature there ! 
Thy choice must be between them — God or man, 
Virtue or guilt ; a Louis or — 

Duch. de la Vail. A Louis ! 

Not mine the poor atonement of the choice ; 
I am, myself, the Abandon'd One ! 

Brage. I know it ; 

! Therefore my mission and my ministry. 
When he who loved thee died, he bade me wait 
The season when the sicklied blight of change 
I Creeps o'er the bloom of Passion, when the way 
i Is half prepared by Sorrow to Repentance, 
| And seek you then, — he trusted not in vain : 
i Perchance an idle hope, but it consoled him. 

Duch. de la Vail. No, no ! — not idle ! — in my happiest 
hours, 
When the world smiled, a void was in this heart 
The world could never fill : thy brother knew me ! 

Brage. I do believe thee, daughter. Hear me yet ; 
My mission is not ended. When thy mother 
Lay on the bed of death (she went before 



76 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV, 

The sterner heart the same blow broke more slowly), — 

As thus she lay, around the swimming walls 

Her dim eyes wander'd, searching through the shadows, 

As if the spirit, half-redeem'd from clay, 

Could force its will to shape, and, from the darkness, 

Body a daughter's image — (nay, be still !) 

Thou wert not there ; — alas ! thy shame had murd^r'd 

Even the blessed sadness of that duty ! 

But o'er that pillow watch'd a sleepless eye, 

And by that couch moved one untiring step, 

And o'er that suffering rose a ceaseless prayer ; 

And still thy mother's voice, whene'er it call'd 

Upon a daughter — found a son ! 

Duch. de la Vail. O Heaven ! 

Have mercy on me ! 

Brage. Coldly through the lattice 

Gleam'd the slow dawn, and, from their latest sleep, 
Woke the sad eyes it was not thine to close ! 
And, as they fell upon the haggard brow, 
And the thin hairs — grown grey, but not by Time — 
Of that lone watcher — while upon her heart 
Gush'd all the memories of the mighty wrecks 
Thy guilt had made of what were once the shrines 
For Honour, Peace, and God ! — that aged woman 
(She was a hero's wife) upraised her voice 
To curse her child ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Go on ! — be kind, and kill me ! 

Brage. Then he, whom thoughts of what he was to tliee 
Had made her son, arrested on her lips 
The awful doom, and, from the earlier past, 
Invoked a tenderer spell — a holier image ! 
Painted thy gentle, soft, obedient childhood — 



SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALUERE. 77 

Thy guileless youth, lone state, and strong temptation ; 

Thy very sin the overflow of thoughts 

From wells whose source was innocence ; and thus 

Sought, with the sunshine of thy maiden spring, 

To melt the ice that lay upon her heart, 

Till all the mother flow'd again ! 

Duck de la Vail. And she ! 

Brage. Spoke only once again ! She died — and blessed 
thee ! 

Duch. de la Vail, [rushing out]. No more ! — I can no 
no more ! — my heart is breaking ! 

Brage. The angel hath not left her ! — if the plumes 
Have lost the whiteness of their younger glory, 
The wings have still the instinct of the skies, 
And yet shall bear her up ! 

Louis [without]. We need you not, sir j 

Ourself will seek the duchess. 

Brage. The king's voice ! 

How my flesh creeps ! — my foe, and her destroyer ! 
The ruthless, heartless — 

[His hand seeks rapidly and mechanically for his sword-hilt. 
Why, why ! — where's my sword ? 
O Lord ! I do forget myself to dotage : 
The soldier, now, is a poor helpless monk, 
That hath not even curses. Satan, hence ! 
Get thee behind me, Tempter ! — There, I'm calm. 



78 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IT. 



SCENE IT. 
Louis and Bragelone. 

Louis. I can no more hold parley with impatience, 
But long to learn how Lauzun's courtship prospers. 
She is not here. At prayers, perhaps. The duchess 
Hath grown devout. A friar ! — Save you, father ! 

Brage. I thank thee, son. 

Louis. He knows me not. Well, 

monk, 
Are you her grace's almoner ? 

Brage. Sire, no ! 

Louis. So short, yet know us 1 

Brage. Sire, I do. You are 

The man — 

Louis. How, priest ! — the man ! 

Brage. The word offends you? 

The Jang, who raised a maiden to a duchess. 
That maiden's father was a gallant subject : 
Kingly reward ! — you made his daughter' duchess. 
That maiden's mother was a stainless matron : 
Her heart you broke, though mother to a duchess ! 
That maiden was affianced from her youth 
To one who served you well — nay, saved your life : 
His life you robb'd of all that gave life value ; 
And yet — you made his fair betroth'd a duchess ! 
You are that king. The world proclaims you " Great ; * 
A million warriors bled to buy your laurels ; 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 79 

A million peasants starved to build Versailles : 
Your people famish ; but your court is splendid ! 
Priests from the pulpit bless your glorious reign ; 
Poets have sung you greater than Augustus ; 
And painters placed you on immortal canvass, 
Limn'd as the Jove whose thunders awe the world : 
But to the humble minister of Heaven, 
You are the king who has betray'd his trust— 
Beggar'd a nation but to bloat a court, 
Seen in men's lives the pastime to ambition, 
Look'd but on virtue as the toy for vice ; 
And, for the first time, from a subject's lips, 
Now learns the name he leaves to Time and God ! 

Louis. Add to the bead-roll of that king's offences, 
That when a foul-mouth'd monk assumed the rebel, 
The monster-king forgave him. Hast thou done % 

Brage. Your changing hues belie your royal mien ; 
111 the high monarch veils the trembling man ! 

Louis. Well, you are privileged ! It ne'er was said 
The Fourteenth Louis, in his proudest hour, 
Bow'd not his sceptre to the Church's crozier. 

Brage. Alas'! the Church ! 'Tis true, this garb of serge 
Dares speech that daunts the ermine, and walks free 
Where stout hearts tremble in the triple mail. 
But wherefore ? — Lies the virtue in the robe, 
Which the moth eats 1 or in these senseless beads 1 
Or in the name of Priest 1 The Pharisees 
Had priests that gave their Saviour to the cross ! 
No ! we have high immunity and sanction, 
That Truth may teach humanity to Power, 
Glide through the dungeon, pierce the armed throng, 
Awaken Luxury on her Sybarite couch, 



80 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV 

And, startling souls that slumber on a throne, 

Bow kings before that priest of priests — the Conscience ! 

Louis [aside]. An awful man ! — unlike the reverend 
crew 
"Who praise my royal virtues in the pulpit, 
And — ask for bishoprics when church is over ! 

Brage. This makes us sacred. The profane are they 
Honouring the herald while they scorn the mission. 
The king who serves the Church, yet clings to Mammon ; 
Who fears the pastor, but forgets the flock ; 
Who bows before the monitor, and yet 
Will ne'er forego the sin, may sink, when age 
Palsies the lust and deadens the temptation, 
To the priest-ridden, not repentant, dotard, — 
For pious hopes hail superstitious terrors, 
And seek some sleet Iscariot of the Church, 
To sell salvation for the thirty pieces ! 

Louis [aside]. He speaks as one inspired ! 

Brage. Awake ! — awake ! 

Great though thou art, awake thee from the dream 
That earth was made for kings — mankind for slaughter — 
Woman for lust — the people for the palace ! 
Dark warnings have gone forth ; along the air 
Lingers the crash of the first Charles's throne ! 
Behold the young, the fair, the haughty king ! 
The kneeling courtiers, and the flattering priests ; 
Lo ! where the palace rose, behold the scaffold — 
The crowd — the axe — the headsman — and the victim I 
Lord of the silver lilies, canst thou tell 
If the same fate await not thy descendant ! 
If some meek son of thine imperial line 
May make no brother to yon headless spectre ! 



SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. 81 

And when the sage who saddens o'er the end 

Tracks back the causes, tremble, lest he find 

The seeds, thy wars, thy pomp, and thy profusion 

Sow'd in a heartless court and breadless people, 

Grew to the tree from which men shaped the scaffold, — 

And the long glare of thy funereal glories 

Light unborn monarchs to a ghastly grave ! 

Beware, proud King ! the Present cries aloud, 

A prophet to the future ! Wake ! — beware ! 

[Exit Bragelone. 
Louis. Gone ! Most ill-omen'd voice and fearful shape ! 
Scarce seem'd it of the earth ; a thing that breathed 
But to fulfil some dark and dire behest ; 
To appal us, and to vanish. — The quick blood 
Halts in my veins. Oh ! never till this hour 
Heard I the voice that awed the soul of Louis, 
Or met one brow that did not quail before 
My kingly gaze ! And this unmitred monk ! 
I'm glad that none were by. — It was a dream ; 
So let its memory like a dream depart. 
I am no tyrant — nay, I love my people. 
My wars were made but for the fame of France ! 
My pomp ! why, tush ! — what king can play the 

hermit ? 
My conscience smites me not ; and but last eve 
I did confess, and was absolved ! — A bigot ; 
And half, methinks, a heretic ! I wish 
The Jesuits had the probing of his doctrines. 
Well, well, 'tis o'er !— What ho, there ! 

Enter Gentleman of the Chamber. 
Louis. Wine ! Apprise 



82 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT IV. 

Once more the duchess of our presence.— Stay ! 
Yon monk, what doth he here 1 

Gent. I know not. sire, 

Kor saw him till this day. 

Louis. Strange ! — Wine ! 

\Eodt Gentleman. 






SCENE V. 
Duchess de la Valliere and Louis. 

Louis. Well, madam, 

We've tarried long your coming, and meanwhile 
Have found your proxy in a madman monk, 
Whom, for the future, we would pray you spare us. 

Re-enter Gentleman with uoine. 

So, so ! the draught restores us. Fair La Valliere, 
Make not yon holy man your confessor ; 
You'll find small comfort in his lectures. 

Buck, de la Tall. Sire, 

His meaning is more kindly than his manner. 
I pray you, pardon him. 

Louis. Ay, ay ! No more ; 

Let's think of him no more. You had, this morn, 
A courtlier visitant, methinks — De Lauzun ? 

Buck, de la Vail. Yes, sire. 

Louis. A smooth and gallant gentleman. 

You're silent. Silence is assent ; 'tis well ! 

Buck, de la Vail, [aside]. Down, my full heart ! The 
duke declares your wish 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 83 

Is that — that I should bind this broken heart 
And — no ! I cannot speak — 

[With great and sudden energy.] 

You wish me wed, sire ? 
Louis. 'Twere best that you should wed ; and yet, De 
Lauzun 
Is scarce the happiest choice. — But as thou wilt. 

Duch. de la Vail. " 'Twere best that I should wed ! " — 
thou saidst it, Louis ; 
Say it once more ! 

Louis. In honesty, I think so. 

Duch. de la Vail. My choice is made, then — I obey the 
fiat, 
And will become a bride ! 

Louis. The duke has sped ! 

i trust he loves thyself, and not thy dower. 

Duch. de la Vail. The duke ! what, hast thou read so 
ill this soul 
That thou couldst deem thus meanly of that book 
Whose every page was bared to thee ? A bitter 
Lot has been mine — and this sums up the measure. 
Go, Louis ! go ! — All glorious as thou art — 
Earth's Agamemnon — the great king of men — 
Thou wert not worthy of this woman's heart ! 

Louis. Her passion moves me ! — Then your choice has 
fallen 
Upon a nobler bridegroom % 

Duch. de la Vail. Sire, it hath I 

Louis. May I demand that choice. 
Duch. de la Vail. Too soon thou'lt learn it. 

Not yet ! Ah me ! 

Louis. Nay, sigh not, my sweet duchess. 

g 2 



84 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT V. 

Speak not so sadly. What though love hath past, 
Friendship remains ; and still my fondest hope 
Is to behold thee happy. Come ! — thy hand ; 
Let us be friends ! We are so ! 

Ducli. de la Vail. Friends ! — no more ! 

So, it hath come to this ! I am contented ! 
Yes — we are friends ! 

Louis. And when your choice is made, 

You will permit your friend to hail your bridals % 

Duch. de la Vail. Ay, when my choice is made ! 

Louis. This poor De Lauzun 

Hath then no chance ? I'm glad of it, and thus 
Seal our new bond of friendship on your hand. 
Adieu ! — and Heaven protect you ! 

[Exit Louis. 
Duch. de la Vail, [gazing after him]. Heaven hath 
Jieard thee ; 
And in this last most cruel, but most gracious, 
Proof of thy coldness, breaks the lingering chain 
That bound my soul to earth. 

Enter Bragelone. 

O holy father ! 
Brother to him whose grave my guilt prepared, 
Witness my firm resolve, support my struggles, 
And guide me back to Yirtue through Bepentance ! 

Brage. Pause, ere thou dost decide. 

Duch. de la Vail. I've paused too Ion* 

And now, impatient of this weary load, 
Sigh for repose. 

Brage. Heaven, receive her back ! 

Through the wide earth, the sorrowing dove hath flown, 



SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 85 

And found no haven ; weary though her wing 
And sullied with the dust of lengthen'd travail, 
Now let her flee away and be at rest ! 
The peace that man has broken — thou restore, 
Whose holiest name is Father ! 

Duck de la Vail. Hear us, Heaven. 



ACT V.— SCENE I. 

The Gardens at Versailles. 

Enter Madame de Montespan, Grammont, and 
Courtiers. 

Mme. de Mon. So she has fled from court — the saintly 
duchess ; 
A convent's grate must shield this timorous virtue. 
Methinks they're not so many to assail it ! 
Well, trust me, one short moon of fast and penance 
Will bring us back the recreant novice 

Gram. And 

End the eventful comedy by marriage. 
Lauzun against the world were even odds ; 
But Lauzun with the world — what saint can stand it % 

Mme. de Mon. \aside\. Lauzun ! — the traitor ! What ! 
to give my rival 
The triumph to reject the lawful love 
Of him whose lawless passion first betray'd me ! 

Gram. Talk of the devil ! Humph — you know the 
proverb. 



86 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT V. 

Enter Lauzun. 

Lau. Good day, my friends. Your pardon, madam ; I 
Thought 'twas the sun that blinded me. — [-isiefe.] Athene ! 
Pray you a word. 

Mme. de Mon. [aloud, and turning away disdainfully]. 
We are not at leisure, duke. 

Lau. Ha ! [aside]. Nay, Athene, spare your friend 
these graces. 
^Forget your state one moment ; have you ask'd 
The king the office that you undertook 
To make my own ? My creditors are urgent. 

Mme. de Mon. [aloud]. No, my lord duke, I have not 
ask'd the king ! 
I grieve to hear your fortunes are so broken, 
And that your honour'd and august device, 
To mend them by your marriage, fail'd. 

Gram. She hits him 

Hard on the hip. Ha, ha ! — the poor De Lauzun ! 

Lau. Sir ! — Nay, I'm calm ! 

Mme. de Mon. Pray, niay we dare to ask 

How long you've loved the duchess 1 ? 

Lau. Ever since 

You were her friend and confidante. 

Mme. de Mon. You're bitter. 

Perchance you deem your love a thing to boast of. 

Lau. To boast of ! — Yes ! 'Tis something ev'n to love 
The only woman Louis ever honour'd ! 

Mme. de Mon. [laying her hand on Lauzun's arm]. In- 
solent ! You shall rue this ! If I speak 
Your name to Louis, coupled with a favour, 
The suit shall be your banishment ! 

[Exit Madame de Montespax. 



SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 87 

First Courtier. Let's follow. 

Ha ! ha \ — Dear duke, your game, I fear, is lost ! 

You've play'd the knave, and thrown away the king. 
Courtiers. Ha ! ha ! — Adieu ! [Exeunt 

Lau. Ha ! ha ! — The devil take you ! 

So, she would ruin me ! Fore-arm'd — fore- warn' d ! 

I have the king's ear yet, and know some secrets 

That could destroy her ! Since La Yalliere's flight, 

Louis grows sad and thoughtful, and looks cold 

On her vain rival, who too coarsely shows 

The world the stuff court ladies' hearts are made o£ 

She will undo herself— and I will help her. 

Weave on thy web, false Montespan, weave on ; 

The bigger spider shall devour the smaller. 

The war's declared — 'tis clear that one must fall : — 

I'll be polite — the lady to the wall ! 

[Exit Lauzun. 



SCENE II. 

Sunset — the old Chateau of La Yallilre — the Convent of the 
Carmelites at a distance — the same scene as that with which the play 
opens. 

Enter the Duchess de la Valliere and Bragelone 
from the Chateau. 

Duch. de la VaU. Once more, ere yet I take farewell of 
earth, 
.1 see mine old, familiar, maiden home ! 
All how unchanged ! — The same the hour, the scene, 
The very season of the year ! — the stillness 



88 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEItE. [ACT V 

Of the smooth wave — the stillness of the trees, 
"Where the winds sleep like dreams ! — and, oh ! the calm 
Of the blue heavens around yon holy spires, 
Pointing, like gospel truths, through calm and storm, 
To man's great home ! 

Br age. [aside]. Oh ! how the years recede ! 

Upon this spot I spoke to her of love, 
And dreamt of bliss for earth ! [The vesper-bell tolls. 

Ducli. de la Vail. Hark ! the deep sound, 

That seems a voice from some invisible spirit, 
Claiming the world for God. — When last I heard it 
Hallow this air, here stood my mother, living ; 
And I — was then a mother's pride ! — and yonder 
Came thy brave brother in his glittering mail ; 
And — ah ! these thoughts are bitter ! — were he living, 
How would he scorn them ! 

Brage. [who lias been greatly agitated]. No ! — ah, no ! — 
thou wrong'st him ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Yet, were he living, could I butreceive 
From his own lips my pardon, and his blessing, 
My soul would deem one dark memorial rased 
Out of the page most blister'd with its tears ! 

Brage. Then have thy wish ! and in these wrecks of man 
Worn to decay, and rent by many a storm, 
Survey the worm the world cali'd Bragelone. 

Duch. de la Vail. Avaunt ! — avaunt ! — I dream ! — the 
dead return'd 
To earth to mock me ! — No ! this hand is warm ! 
I have one murther less upon my souL 
I thank thee, Heaven ! — [swoons], 

Brage. [supporting her]. The blow strikes home ; and yet 
What is my life to her ? Louise ! — She moves not ; 



SCENE ILj THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 89 

She does not breathe ; how still she sleeps ! I saw her 

Sleep in her mother's arms, and then, in sleep 

She smiled. There s no smile now ! — poor child ! One kiss ! 

It is a brother's kiss — it has no guilt ; 

Kind Heaven, it has no guilt. — I have survived 

All earthlier thoughts : her crime, my vows, effaced them. 

A brother's kiss ! — Away ! I'm human still ; 

I thought I had been stronger ; God forgive me ! 

Awake, Louise ! — awake ! She breathes once more ; 

The spell is broke ; the marble warms to life ! 

And I — freeze back to stone ! 

Ducli. de la Vail. I heard a voice 

That cried " Louise ! " — Speak, speak ! — my sense is dim, 
And struggles darkly with a blessed ray 
That shot from heaven. — My shame hath not destroy'd 
thee! 

Brage. No ! — life might yet serve thee ! — and I lived on, 
Dead to all else. I took the vows, and then, 
Ere yet I laid me down, and bade the Past 
Fade like a ghost before the dawn of heaven, 
One sacred task was left. — If love was dust, 
Love, like ourselves, hath an immortal soul, 
That doth survive whate'er it takes from clay ; 
And that — the holier part of love — became 
A thing to watch thy steps — a guardian spirit 
To hover round, disguised, unknown, undream'd of, 
To soothe the sorrow, to redeem the sin, 
And lead thy soul to peace ! 

Ducli. de la Vail. O bright revenge ! 

Love strong as death, and nobler far than woman's ! 

Brage. To peace — ah, let me deem so ! — the mute 
cloister, 



90 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT V. 

The spoken ritual, and the solemn veil, 

Are nought themselves ; — the Huguenot abjures 

The monkish cell, but breathes, perchance, the prayer 

That speeds as quick to the Eternal Throne ! 

In our own souls must be the solitude ; 

In our own thoughts the sanctity ! — 'Tis then 

The feeling that our vows have built the wall 

Passion can storm not, nor temptation sap, 

Gives calm its charter, roots out wild regret, 

And makes the heart the world-disdaining cloister. 

This — this is peace ! but pause, if in thy breast 

Linger the wish of earth. Alas ! all oaths 

Are vain, if nature shudders to record them — 

The subtle spirit 'scapes the sealed vessel ! 

The false devotion is the true despair ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Fear not ! — I feel 'tis not the walls of 
stone, 
Told beads, nor murmur'd hymns, that bind the heart, 
Or exorcise the world ; the spell's the thought 
That where most weak we've banish'd the temptation, 
And reconciled* what earth would still divide, 
The human memories and the immortal conscience. 

Brage. Doubt fades before thine accents. On the day 
That gives thee to the veil we'll meet once more. 
Let mine be man's last blessing in this world. 
Oh ! tell me then, thou'rt happier than thou hast been ; 
And when we part, I'll seek some hermit cell 
Beside the walls that compass thee, and prayer, 
Morning and night, shall join our souls in heaven. 

Duch. de la Vail. Yes, generous spirit ! think not that 
my future 
Shall be repining as the past. Thou livest, 



f 

SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. % 91 

! And conscience smiles again. The shatter'd bark 
Glides to its haven. Joy ! the land is near. 

[Exit Duchess de la Valliere into the Chateau. 
Br age. So, it is past ! — the secret is disclosed ! 
\ The hand she did reject on earth has led her 
1 To holier ties. I have not lived in vain ! 
I Yet who had dream'd, when through the ranks of war 

Went the loud shout of " France and Bragelone !" 
i That the monk's cowl would close on all my laurels 1 
I A never-heard philosopher is life ! — 
I Our happiest hours are sleep's ; — and sleep proclaims, 
Did we but listen to its warning voice, 
That rest is earth's elixir. Why, then, pine 
That, ere our years grow feverish with their toil, 
Too weary-worn to find the rest they sigh for, 
We learn betimes the moral of repose ? 
I will lie down, and sleep away this world. 
The pause of care, the slumber of tired passion, 
Why, why defer till night is well-nigh spent ? 
When the brief sun that gilt the landscape sets, 
When o'er the music on the leaves of life 
Chill silence falls, and every fluttering hope 
That voiced the world with song has gone to rest, 
Then let thy soul, from the poor labourer, learn 
" Sleep's sweetest taken soonest ! " 

[As he moves away, his eye falls upon a glove dropped hy the 
Duchess de la Valliere— he takes it up. 
And this hath touch'd her hand ! — it were a comfort 
To hoard a single relic ! 

[Kisses the glove, and tlien suddenly dropping it. 
No !— 'Tis sinful ! 

[Exit Bragelone, 



92 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1ERE. [ACT V. 



SCENE III. 

The exterior of tlie Gothic Convent of the Carmelites— The windows , 
illumined — Music heard from within — A crowd without — Enter 
Courtiers, Ladies, Priests, &c, and pass through tlce door of the t 
chapel, in the centre of the building. 

Enter Lauzun from a door in tlie side wing of the 
Convent — to him, Grammont. 

Lau. Where hast thou left the king 1 

Gram. Not one league hence. 

Lau. Ere the clock strikes, La ValliSre takes the veil. 

Gram. Great Heaven ! so soon ' — and Louis sent me on, 
To learn how thou hadst prosper'd with the duchess. 
He is so sanguine — this imperious king, 
Who never heard a " No " from living lips ! 
How did she take his letter ? 

Lau. In sad silence ; 

Then mused a little while, and some few tears 
Stole down her cheeks, as, with a trembling hand, 
She gave me back the scroll. 

Gram. You mean her answer. 

Lau. No ; the king's letter. " Tell him that I thank 
him ;" 
(Such were her words ;) ' but that my choice is made ; 
And ev'n this last assurance of his love 
I dare not keep : ' tis only when I pray, 
That I may think of him. This is my answer n 

Gram. No more 1 — no written word 1 

Lau, None, Grammont. Then 



SCENE IV.l THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 93 

I She rose and left me ; and I heard the bell 
I Calling the world to see a woman scorn it. 

Gram. The king will never brook it. He will grasp 
her 
Back from this yawning tomb of living souls. 
| The news came on him with such sudden shock ; 
The long noviciate thus abridged ! and she — 
Ever so waxen to his wayward will ! — 
: She cannot yet be marble. 

Lau. Wrong'd affection 

Makes many a Niobe from tears. Haste, Grammont, 
Back to the king, and bid him fly to save, 
Or nerve his heart to lose, her. I will follow, — 
My second charge fulfill'd. 

Gram. And what is that 1 

Lau. Revenge and justice ! — Go ! 

[Exit Grammont. 
Lau. [looking down the stage]. I hear her laugh — 

I catch the glitter of her festive robe ! 
Athene" comes to triumph — and to tremble ! 



SCENE IV. 
Madame de Montespan, Courtiers, and Lauzun. 

Mme. de Mon. [aside]. Now for the crowning cup of 
sparkling fortune ! 
A rarer pearl than Egypt's queen dissolved 
I have immersed in that delicious draught, 



94 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT V. 

A woman's triumph o'er a fairer rival ! 

[As she turns to enter the convent, she perceives Lauzun. 
"What ! you here, duke ! 

Lau. Ay, madam ; I've not yet 

To thank you for — my banishment ! 

Mme. de Mon. The Ides 

Of March are come — not over ! 

Lau. Are they not ? 

For some they may be ! You are here to witness — 
Mme. de Mon. My triumph ! 

Lau. And to take & friend's condolence. 

I bear this letter from the king ! 

Mme. de Mon. The king % 

[Reads tlie letter, 
" We do not blame you ; blame belongs to love, 
And love had nought with you." — What ! what ! I 

tremble ! 
" The Duke de Lauzun, of these lines the bearer, 
Confirms their purport : from our royal court 
We do excuse your presence." Banish'd, duke ? 
Is that the word 1 — What, banish'd ! 

Lau. Hush ! — you mar 

The holy silence of the place. 'Tis true ; 
You read aright. Our gracious king permits you 
To quit Versailles. Versailles is not the world. 
Mme. de Mon. Perdition ! — banish'd ! 
Lau. You can take the veiL 

Meanwhile, enjoy your triumph I 

Mme. de Mon. Triumph ! — Ah ! 

She triumphs o'er me to the last. My soul 
Finds hell on earth — and hers makes earth a heaven ! 
Lau. Hist ! — will you walk within 1 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 95 

Mme. de Man,. 0, hateful world ! 

What 1 — hath it come to this ? 

Lau. You spoil your triumph ! 

Mme. de Mm. Lauzun, I thank thee — thank thee — 
thank — and curse thee. 

[Eocit Madame de Montespan. 
Lau. [looking after her vrith a subdued laug1i\. Ha, 
ha ! — the broken heart can know no pang 
Like that which racks the bad heart when its sting 
Poisons itself. Now, then, away to Louis. 
The bell still tolls : there's time. This soft La Yalliere ! 
The only thing that ever baffled Lauzun, 
And felt not his revenge ! — revenge, poor soul ! 
Revenge upon a dove ! — she shall be saved 
From the pale mummies of yon Memphian vault, 
Or the great Louis will be less than man, — 
Or that fond sinner will be more than woman. 

[Eocit Lauzun. 



SCENE Y. 

The interior of the Chapel of the Carmelite Convent — On the fore- 
ground, Courtiers, Ladies, &c. — At the bach of the stage, the altar, 
only partially seen through the surrounding throng — Tlie officials pass 
to and fro, swinging ike censers — The stage darkened — Lights sus- 
pended along the aisle, and tapers by the altar. 

As the scene opens, solemn music, to which is chaunted ihefoUomng 

HYMN. 

Come from the world, weary soul, 

For run the race and near the goal J 



96 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT ▼. 

Flee from the net, lonely dove, 
Thy nest is built the clouds above ! 
Turn, wild and worn with panting fear, 
And slake thy thirst, thou wounded deer, 
In Jordan's holy springs ! 

Arise ! O fearful soul, arise 1 
For broke the chain and calm the skies ! 
As moths fly upward to the star, 
The light allures thee from afar. 
Though earth is lost, and space is wide, 
The smile of God shall be thy guide, 
And Faith and Hope thy wings ! 

[As the Hymn ends, Bragelone enters, and stands apart in 
the background. 

First Cour. Three minutes more, and earth has lost 
La Valliere ! 

Second Cour. So young ! — so fair ! 

Third Cour. 'Twas whisper'd, that the king 

Would save her yet ! 

First Cour. What ! snatch her from the altar ? 

He durst not, man ! 

Enter Louis, Grammont, and Lauzun. 

Louis. Hold ! we forbid the rites ! 

[As the King advances hastily up theaisfy Bragelone places 
himself before him. 
Back monk ! revere the presence of the king ! 

Brage. And thou the palace of the King of kings ! 

Louis. Dotard ! we claim our subject. 

Brage. She hath past 

The limit of your realm. Ye priests of Heaven, 
Complete your solemn task ! — The church's curse 
Hangs on the air. Descendant of Saint Louis, 
Move — and the avalanche falls ! 



*CENEV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEHE. 97 

[Tlie Duchess de la Valli&re, still dressed in the bridal 
and gorgeous attire assumed before the taking of the 
veil, descends from the altar. 

Duch. de la Vail. No, holy friend ! 

I need it not ; my soul is my protector. 
.Nay, thou mayst trust me. 

Br age. [after a pause]. Thou art right. — I trust 
thee? 

Louis \leading the Duch. de la VaUilre to the front of the 
stage]. Thou hast not ta'en the veil 1 — Ev'n Time 
had mercy. 
Thou art saved ! — thou art saved ! — to love — to life ! 

Duch. de la Vail. Ah, sire ! 

Louis. Call me not sire ! — forget that dreary time 
When thou wert duchess, and myself the king. 
Fly back, fly back, to those delicious hours 
When / was but thy lover and thy Louis ! 
And thou my dream — my bird — my fairy flower — 
My violet, shrinking in the modest shade 
Until transplanted to this breast — to haunt 
The common air with odours ! Oh, Louise ! 
Hear me ! — the fickle lust of change allured me, 
The pride thy virtues wounded arm'd against thee, 
Until I dream'd I loved thyself no longer ; 
But now this dread resolve, this awe of parting, 
Re-binds me to thee — bares my soul before me — 
Dispels the lying mists that veil'd thine image, 
And tells me that I never loved but thee ! 

Duch. de la Vail. I am not then despised ! — thou lov'st 
me still ! 
And when I pray for thee, my heart may feel 
That it hath nothing to forgive ! 

H 



98 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT V. 

Louis. Louise ! 

Thou dost renounce this gloomy purpose 1 

Buck, de la Vail. Never ! 

It is not gloomy ! — think'st thou it is gloom 
To feel that, as my soul becomes more pure, 
Heaven will more kindly listen to the prayers 
That rise for thee ? — is that thought gloom, my Louis ? 

Louis. Oh ! slay me not with tenderness ! Return ! 
And if thy conscience startle at my love, 
Be still my friend — my angel ! 

Duck de la Vail I am weak, 

But, in the knowledge of my weakness, strong ! 
I could not breathe the air that's sweet with thee, 
Nor cease to love ! — in flight my only safety ; 
And were that flight not made by solemn vows 
Eternal, it were bootless ; for the wings 
Of my wild soul know but two bournes to speed to — 
Louis and Heaven ! And, oh ! in Heaven at last 
My soul, unsinning, may unite with Louis ! 

Louis. I do implore thee ! — 

Duch. de la Vail. No ; thou canst not tempt me ! 

My heart already is the nun. 

Louis. Thou know'st not 

I have dismiss'd thy rival from the court. 
Return ! — though mine no more, at least thy Louis 
Shall know no second love ! 

Buck de la Vail. What ! wilt thou, Louis, 

Renounce for me eternally my rival, 
And live alone for 

Louis. Thee ! Louise, I swear it ! 

Buck de la Vail, [raising her arms to Heaven]. Father I 
at length, I dare to hope for pardon, 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 99 

For now remorse may prove itself sincere ! 

Bear witness, Heaven ! I never loved this man 

So well as now ! and never seem'd his love 

Built on so sure a rock ! Upon thine altar 

I lay the offering. I revoke the past ; 

For Louis, Heaven was left — and now I leave 

Louis, when tenfold more beloved, for Heaven ! 

Ah ! pray with me ! Be this our latest token — 

This memory of sweet moments — sweet, though sinless \ 

Ah ! pray with me ! that I may hive till death 

The thought — " we pray'd together for forgiveness ! " 

Louis. Oh ! wherefore never knew I till this hour 
The treasure I shall lose ! I dare not call thee 
Back from the Heaven where thou art half already ! 
Thy soul demands celestial destinies, 
And stoops no more to earth. Be thine the peace, 
And mine the penance ! Yet these awful walls, 
The rigid laws of this severest order, 
Yon spectral shapes, this human sepulchre, — 
And thou, the soft, the delicate, the highborn, 
The adored delight of Europe's mightiest king, — - 
Thou canst not bear it ! 

Ducli. de la Vail. I have borne much worse — 

Thy change and thy desertion ! — Let it pass ! 
There is no terror in the things without ; 
Our souls alone the palace or the prison ; 
And the one thought that I have fled from sin 
Will fill the cell with images more glorious, 
Ajid haunt its silence with a mightier music, 
Than ever throng'd illumined halls, or broke 
From harps by mortal strung ! 

Louis. I will not hear thee I 

h 2 



100 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT V. 

I cannot brave these thoughts. Thy angel voice 

But tells me what a sun of heavenly beauty 

Glides from the earth, and leaves my soul to darkness. 

This is my work ! — 'twas I for whom that soul 

Forsook its native element ; for me, 

Sorrow consumed thy youth, and conscience gnaw'd 

That patient, tender, unreproachful heart. 

And now this crowns the whole ! the priest — the altar— 

The sacrifice — the victim ! Touch me not ! 

Speak not ! I am unmann'd enough already. 

I — I — I choke ! These tears — let them speak for me. 

Now ! now thy hand — farewell ! farewell, for ever ! 

[Exit Louis. 
Duch. de la Vail. Be firm, my heart, be firm ! 

[After a pause, turning to Bragelone, with a slight smile. 
'Tis past ! we've conquer'd ! 

\The Duchess de la ValliSre re-ascends to the altar — the 
crowd close around. 

[Music. 

CHORUS. 

Hark ! to the nuptial train are open'd wide 
The Eternal Gates. Hosanna to the bride ! 

Gram. She has ta'en the veil — the last dread rite is 

done. 
Abbess [from the altar]. Sister Louise ! before the eter- 
nal grate 
Becomes thy barrier from the living world, 
It is allow'd thee once more to behold 
The face of men, and bid farewell to friendship. 



SCENE V.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 101 

Brage. [aside]. Why do I shudder 1 why shrinks back 
my being 
From our last gaze, like Nature from the Grave % 
One moment, and one look, and o'er her image 
Thick darkness falls, till Death, that morning star, 
Heralds immortal day. I hear her steps 
Treading the mournful silence ; o'er my soul 
Pauses the freezing time. O Lord, support me ! 
One effort more — one effort ! — Wake, my soul ! 
'Tis thy last trial ; wilt thou play the craven 1 

[Hie crowd give way, the Duchess de la Valliere in the 
habit of the Carmelite nuns, passes down the steps of the 
altar, led by the Abbess — As she pauses to address those 
whom she recognizes in the crowd, the chorus chaunts : — 

Sister, look and speak thy last, 
From the world thou'rt dying fast ; 
While farewell to life thou'rt giving, 
Dead already to the living. 

Duck, de la Vail [coming to tlie front of the stage sees 
Lauzun]. Lauzun ! thou serv'st a king, whate'er 
his faults, 
Who merits all thy homage : honour — love him. 
His glory needs no friendship ; but in sickness 
Or sorrow, kings need love. Be faithful, Lauzun ! 
And, far from thy loud world, one lowly voice 
Shall not forget thee. 

Brage, [aside]. All the strife is hush'd ! 

My heart's wild sea lies mute ! 

Buck, de la Vail, [approaching Bragelone, and kneeling 
to him], Now ! friend and father, 

Bless the poor Nun ! 



102 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALL1ERE. [ACT V. SC. V. 

Brage. As Duchess of La Valliere 

Thou wert not happy ; as the Carmelite Sister, 
Say — art thou happy ? 

Dueh. de la Vail. Yes 1 

Brage. $&ying his hand on her Jiead]. O Father, bless 
her ! 

CHORUS. 

Hark ! in heaven is mirth ! 

Jubilate ! 
Grief leaves guilt on earth 1 

Jubilate ! 
Joy for sin forgiven ! 

Jubilate ! 
Come, Bride of Heaven ! 

Jubilate ! 

[Curtain falls slowly. 



THE LADY OF LYONS; 

OB, 

LOVE AND PRIDE. 



PREFACE, 



An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called 
"The Bellows-Mender," suggested the plot of this Drama. The 
incidents are, however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and 
the characters entirely re- cast. 

Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the 
French history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of 
this play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in 
which the incidents were rendered most probable, in which the pro- 
bationary career of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid 
for dramatic effect, and in which the character of the time itself 
was depicted by the agencies necessary to the conduct of the narra- 
tive. For during the early years of the first and most brilliant suc- 
cesses of the French Eepublic, in the general ferment of society, 
and the brief equalization of ranks, Claude's high-placed love, his 
ardent feelings, his unsettled principles (the struggle between 
which makes the passion of this drama), his ambition, and his 
career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and in which 
the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the 
individual. 

The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first 
place, sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as 
Manager of Covent Garden, and believing that many of the higher 
interests of the Drama were involved in the success or failure of an 
enterprise equally hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so 
presume to express myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art ; 
and it was only for Mr. Macready to think it possible that I might 
serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt. 



106 PREFACE. 

Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether 
or not, after the comparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess 
de la Valliere," certain critics had truly declared that it was not in 
my power to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatrical 
effect. I felt, indeed, that it was in this that a writer, accustomed 
to the narrative class of composition, would have the most both to 
learn and wtlearn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the 
plot and the arrangement of the incidents that I directed my chief 
attention ; — and I sought to throw whatever belongs to poetry less 
into the diction and the "felicity of words" than into the construc- 
tion of the story, the creation of the characters, and the spirit of the 
pervading sentiment. 

The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected 
until the play had established itself in public favour. The announce- 
ment of my name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to 
which it is now needless to refer. When a work has outlived for 
some time the earlier hostilities of criticism, there comes a new race 
of critics to which a writer may, for the most part, calmly trust for 
a fair consideration, whether of tne faults or the merits of his per- 
formance. 






TO 

THE AUTHOR OF "ION," 

WHOSE GENIUS AND EXAMPLE HAVE ALIKE CONTRIBUTED 
TOWARDS THE REGENERATION OF 

Wqt Rational JBratna, 
THIS PLAY IS INSCRIBED. 



\ 



V 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Beauseant, a rich gentleman of Lyons, in love with, and 

refused by, Pauline Deschappelles. 
Glavis, his friend, also a objected suitor to Pauline. 
Colonel (afterwards General) Damas, cousin to Mme. 

Deschappelles, and an officer in the French army. 
Monsieur Deschappelles, a Lyonnese merchant, father 

to Pauline. 
Landlord op the Golden Lion. 
Gaspar. 

Claude Melnotte. 
First Officer, Second Officer, Third Officer. 

Servants, Notary, &c. 

Madame Deschappelles. 

Pauline, her daughter. 

The Widow Melnotte, mother to Claude. 

Janet, the innkeeper's daughter. 

Marian, maid to Pauline. 

Scene — Lyons and the neighbourhood. 
Time— 1795-179a 



THE LADY OF LYONS; 



LOVE AND PKIDE. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 

A room in the house of M. Deschappelles, at Lyons. Pauline 
reclining on a sofa ; Marian, her maid fanning her — Flowers and 
notes on a table beside the sofa— Madame Deschappelles seated — 
The gardens are seen from the open window. 

Mine. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to 
the left. — [Marian alters the position of a rose in Pau- 
line's hair.'] — Ah, so ! — that improves the hair, — the 
tournure, the je ne sais quoi ! — You are certainly very 
handsome, child ! — quite my style ; — I don't wonder 
that you make such a sensation ! — Old, young, rich, and 
poor, do homage to the Beauty of Lyons ! — Ah, we live 
again in our children, — especially when they have our eyes 
and complexion ! 

Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your 
Pauline ! — [.4mk] I wish I knew who sent me these 
flowers ! 

Mme. Deschap. No, child ! — If I praise you, it is only 
to inspire you with a proper ambition. — You are born to 



110 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT I. 

make a great marriage. — Beauty is valuable or worthless 
according as you invest the property to the best advan- 
tage. — Marian, go and order the carriage ! 

[Exit Marian. 
Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, 
these beautiful flowers % — how sweet they are ! 

Enter Servant. 

Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, madam. 

Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another 
offer !— I know it is ! — Your father should engage an 
additional clerk to keep the account-book of your con- 
quests. 

Enter Beauseant. 

Beau. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at 
home ! — [ilsicfe.] How lovely she looks ! — It is a great 
sacrifice I make in marrying into a family in trade ! — 
they will be eternally grateful ! — [Aloud.] Madam, you 
will permit me a word with your charming daughter. 
— [Approaches Pauline, who rises disdainfully.] — Made- 
moiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope 
that you must long since have divined. Last night, 
when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you com- 
pleted your conquest over me ! You know that my for- 
tune is not exceeded by any estate in the province, — you 
know that, but for the Revolution, which has defrauded 
me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust 
that you will not reject my alliance 1 I offer you my 
hand and heart. 

Pauline [aside]. He has the air of a man who confers 
a favour ! — [Aloud.] Sir, you are very condescending — I 
thank you humbly ; but, being duly sensible of my own 



SCENE J ] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. Ill 

demerits, you must allow me to decline the honour you 
propose. 

[Curtsies, and turns away. 

Beau. Decline ! impossible ! — you are not serious ! — 
Madam, suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for 
your daughter's hand — the settlements shall be worthy 
her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Des- 
chappelles 1 

Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in 
the domestic arrangements, — you are very obliging. If 
you were still a marquis, or if my daughter were intended 
to marry a commoner, — why, perhaps, we might give you 
the preference. 

Beau. A commoner ! — we are all commoners in France 
now. 

Mme. Deschap. In France, yes ; but there is a nobility 
still left in the other countries in Europe. We are quite 
aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you 
will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. 
We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, 
M. Beauseant ! — My dear child, the carriage will be here 
presently. 

Beau. Say no more, madam ! — say no more ! — [\4siak] 
Refused ! and by a merchant's daughter ! — refused ! It 
will be all over Lyons before sunset ! — I will go and bury 
myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn woman- 
hater. Refused ! they ought to be sent to a madhouse ! 
— Ladies, I have the honour to wish you a very good 
morning. [Exit. 

Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are ! — I think, 
child, we. kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inex- 
perienced, knows how to accent an offer, but it requires a 



112 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT I. 

vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescen- 
sion and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the 
dancing-master. 

Enter Damas. 

Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. — Well, 
Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball 1 — So 
many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis 
sighed most piteously when you departed ; but that might 
be the effect of the supper. 

Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed ! 

Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis 1 — as if my daughter would 
think of M. Glavis ! 

Damas. Hey-day ! — why not ? — His father left him a 
very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, 
cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to 
M. Beauseant, — his father was a marquis before the Revo- 
lution. 

Pauline. M. Beauseant ! — Cousin, you delight in tor- 
menting me ! 

Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline ! — Cousin 
Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, — there is a 
certain indelicacy in all your ideas. — M. Beauseant knows 
already that he is no match for my daughter ! 

Damas. Pooh ! pooh ! one would think you intended 
your daughter to marry a prince ! 

Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did 1 — what then ?— 
Many a foreign prince— 

Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince ! — foreign 
fiddlestick ! — you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense 
at your time of life. 

Mme. Deschap. My time of life ! — That is an expression 
never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three- 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 113 



I quarters ; — and only then by the clergyman of the 

parish. 

Enter Servant. 

Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. 

Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet — you 

really have a very thorough-bred air — not at all like your 

poor father. — [Fondly.'] Ah, you little coquette ! when a 

j young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign 

I that she takes after her mother ! 

Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas — and a better 
humour to you. — [Going back to tlie table and taking the 
! flowers.] Who could have sent me these flowers 1 

[Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles. 
Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head 
had not been turned. I fear she is now become in- 
corrigible ! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still 
a bachelor ! They may talk of the devotion of the sex — 
but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman 
in love — with herself. [Exit. 



SCENE II. 

The exterior of a small Village Inn — sign, the Golden Lion — a few 
leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. 

Beau, [behind the scenes]. Yes, you may bait the horses ; 
we shall rest here an hour. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 
Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have 
promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, 
I 



114 THE LADY OF LYONS. [ACT I. 

' — that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment, — 
and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a 
funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. 

Beau. Bear with me ! — the fact is that I am miserable. 

Gla. You — the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons ? 

Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am mise- 
rable. — Thou knowest Pauline — the only daughter of the 
rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles 1 

Gla. Know her ? — who does not 1 — as pretty as Yenus, 
and as proud as Juno. 

Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride. — [Drawing 
himself up.~] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me I 

Gla. [aside]. So she has me ! — very consoling ! In 
all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's 
disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irri- 
tation. — [-4fowc£] Refused you ! and wherefore % 

Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution 
swept away my father's title of Marquis, — and she will 
not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen 
left in France, — as we are all citizens and equals, she can 
only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord 
or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, 
that this fille du Roturier may condescend to accept him. 
Refused me, and with scorn ! — By Heaven, I'll not submit 
to it tamely : — I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and 
rage. — Refuse me, indeed ! 

Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow, — I will tell you 
a secret. For the same reason she refused me ! 

Beau. You ! — that's a very different matter ! But 
give me your hand, Glavis, — we'll think of some plan to 
humble her. Mille didbles ! I should like to see her 
married to a strolling player ! 






SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 1 1 6 

Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. 
Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant, — servant, sir. 
Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your 
chateau ; our larder is most plentifully supplied. 

Beau. I have no appetite. 

Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty 
stomach. What have you got 1 [Takes and looks over 
the bill of fare.] 

[Shout urithout.] * Long live the Prince ! — Long live 
the Prince ! " 

Beau. The Prince ! — what Prince is that 1 I thought 
we had no princes left in France. 

Land. Ha, ha ! the lads always call him Prince. He 
has just won the prize in the shooting- match, and they 
are taking him home in triumph. 

Beau. Him ! and who's Mr. Him 1 

Zand. Who should he be but the pride of the village, 
Claude Melnotte 1 — Of course you have heard of Claude 
Melnotte ? 

Gla. [giving back the bill of fare]. Never had that 
honour. Soup — ragout of hare — roast chicken, and, in 
short, all you have ! 

Beau. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener ? 

Land. Exactly so — a wonderful young man. 

Beau. How, wonderful 1 — Are his cabbages better than 
other people's ? 

Land. Nay, he don't garden any more ; his father left 
left him well off. He's only a genus. 

Gla. A what? 

Land. A genus ! — a man who can do everything in 
life except anything that's useful ; — that's a genus. 

Beau. You raise my curiosity ; — proceed. 
i 2 



116 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT L 

Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte 
died, and left his son well to do in the world. We then 
all observed that a great change came over young Claude : 
he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from 
Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced 
to wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he 
took a fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a music- 
master ; and then he learned to paint ; and at last it was 
said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for 
a painter. The lads laughed at him at first ; but he is a 
stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon 
taught them to laugh the wrong side of their mouths ; 
and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls pray 
for him. 

Beau. A promising youth, certainly ! And why do 
they call him Prince % 

Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and 
partly because he has such a proud way with him, and 
wears such fine clothes — and, in short, looks like a prince. 

Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's 
brain ? The Revolution, I suppose 1 

Land. Yes — the revolution that turns us all topsy- 
turvy — the revolution of Love. 

Beau. Romantic young Corydon ! And with whom is 
he in love 1- 

Land. Why — but it is a secret, gentlemen. 

Beau. Oh ! certainly. 

Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul ! 
that it is no less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, 
Pauline Deschappelles. 

Beau, and Glavis. Ha, ha ! — Capital ! 

Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND TJRIDE. '117 

Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his 
suit? 

Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look 
at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her 
father's garden. 

Beau. Are you sure of that ? 

Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not 
know him by sight. 

Beau, [taking Glavis aside]. I have hit it, — I have it ; — ■ 
here is our revenge ! Here is a prince for our haughty 
damsel. Do you take me ? 

Gla. Deuce take me if I do ! 

Beau. Blockhead ! — it's as clear as a map. What if 
we could make this elegant clown pass himself off as a 
foreign prince ? — lend him money, clothes, equipage for 
the purpose? — make him propose to Pauline? — marry 
Pauline ? Would it not be delicious ? 

Gla. Ha, ha ! — Excellent ! But how shall we support 
the necessary expenses of his highness ? 

Beau. Pshaw ! Bevenge is worth a much larger sacri' 
fice than a few hundred louis ; — as for details, my vale 
is the trustiest fellow in the world, and shall have the 
appointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go 
to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable 
Crichton. 

Gla. With all my heart ; — but the dinner 1 

Beau. Always thinking of dinner ! Hark ye, landlord ; 
how far is it to young Melnotte's cottage ? I should like 
to see such a prodigy. 

Land. Turn down the lane, — then strike across the 
common, — and you will see his mother's cottage. 

Beau. True, he lives with his mother. — |\4stG?e.] We 



118 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT I. 

will not trust to an old woman's discretion ; better send 
for him hither. I'll just step in and write him a note. 
Come, Glavis. 

Gla. Yes, — Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers 
of princes, wholesale and retail, — an uncommonly genteel 
line of business. But why so grave ? 

Beau. You think only of the sport, — I of the revenge. 

[Exeunt within the Inn. 



SCENE III. 

The interior of Melnotte's cottage ; flowers placed here and there ; 
a guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, &c. ; a picture on an easel, 
covered bg a curtain ; fencing-foils crossed over the mantelpiece ; an. 
attempt at refinement in spite of the homeliness of the furniture, &c. ; 
a staircase to the right conducts to the upper story. 

[Shout without] " Long live Claude Melnotte ! " " Long 
live the Prince J " 

The Widow Mel. Hark ! — there's my dear son ; — car- 
ried off the prize, I'm sure ; and now he'll want to treat 
them all. 

Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What ! you will not 
come in, my friends ! Well, well, — there's a trifle to make 
merry elsewhere. Good day to you all, — good day ! 

[Shout.] " Hurrah ! Long live Prince Claude ! " 
Enter Claude Melnotte, with a rifle in his hand. 

Mel. Give me joy, dear mother ! — I've won the prize ! 
—never missed one shot ! Is it not handsome, this gun 1 

Widow. Humph ! — Well, what is it worth, Claude ? 



SCENE III.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 119 

Mel. Worth ! What is a riband worth to a soldier ? 
Worth ! everything ! Glory is priceless ! 

Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah ! Claude, 
Claude, castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up ! 
How is all this to end 1 What good does it do thee to i 
learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and ; 
fence, and dance, and paint pictures ? All very fine ; but * 
what does it bring in ? 

Mel. Wealth ! wealth, my mother ! Wealth to the 
mind — wealth to the heart — high thoughts — bright 
dreams — the hope of fame — the ambition to be worthier 
to love Pauline. 

Widow. My poor son ! — The young lady will never think 
of thee. 

Mel. Do the stars think of us ? Yet if the prisoner 
see them shine into his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him 
turn away from their lustre 1 Even so from this low cell, 
poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains. 
— [Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain.'] See, 
this is her image — painted from memory. Oh, how the 
canvas wrongs her ! — [Takes up the toush and throws it 
aside.] I shall never be a painter ! I can paint no like- 
ness but one, and that is above all art. I would turn 
soldier — France needs soldiers ! But to leave the air 
that Pauline breathes ! What is the hour 1 — so late 1 
I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for 
the last six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers 
to Pauline 1 — she wears them. I have seen them on her 
breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled 
with odours ! I have now grown more bold — I have 
poured my worship into poetry — I have sent the verses 
to Pauline — I have signed them with my own name. My 



120 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT I. 

messenger ought to be back by this time. I bade him 
wait for the answer. 

Widoiv. And what answer do you expect, Claude? 

Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the 
poor troubadour : — " Let me see the Oracle that can tell 
nations I am beautiful ! " She will admit me. I shall 
hear her speak — I shall meet her eyes — I shall read upon 
her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves 
into blushes. Then — then, oh, then — she may forget that 
I am the peasant's son ! 

Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude ? 

Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is 
the true rank. She will give me a badge — a flower — a 
glove ! Oh rapture ! I shall join the armies of the 
republic — I shall rise — I shall win a name that beauty 
will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to 
say to her — " See, how love does not level the proud, but 
raise the humble ! " Oh, how my heart swells within 
me ! — Oh, what glorious prophets of the future are youth 
and hope ! [Knock at the door. 

Widow. Come in. 

Enter Gaspar. 

Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter ? 
Why do you turn away, man ? where is the letter 1 
[Gaspar gives him one.] This ! This is mine, the one 
I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it 1 

Gaspar. Yes, I left it. 

Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else ! 

Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger 
was honoured. For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne 
that which no Frenchman can bear without disgrace. 

Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar ! Disgrace % 



SCENE III.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 121 

Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it 
from lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was 
meant for. 

Mel. It reached her, then ; — you are sure of that ! It 
reached her, — well, well ! 

Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with 
blows. Dost hear, Melnotte '] with blows ! Death ! are 
we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we 
peasants 1 

Mel. With blows 1 No, Gaspar, no ; not blows ! 

Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so 
deep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy 
letter into the mire swore that his lady and her mother 
never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, 
Claude 1 

Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf 
might not have written to an empress. No, not one. 

Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they 
gave me, if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure 
this, Claude % 

Mel. [wringing Gaspar's hand]. Forgive me, the 
fault was mine, I have brought this on thee ; I will not 
forget it'; thou shalt be avenged ! The heartless 
insolence ! 

Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte ; think not of me ; 
I would go through fire and water to serve thee ; but, — 
a blow 1 It is not the bruise that galls, — it is the blush, 
Melnotte. 

Mel. Say, what message 1 — How insulted ! — Where- 
fore 1 — What the offence 1 

Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, 
the daughter of the rich merchant ? 



1-2 THE LADY OF LYONS j [ACT I. 

Mel. Well?— 

Gaspar. And are you not a peasant — a gardener's 
son? — that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. 
Blows to a French citizen, blows ! [Exit. 

Widovj. Now you are cured, Claude ! 

Mel. [tearing the letter]. So do I scatter her image to 
the winds — I will stop her in the open streets — I will 

insult her — I will beat her menial ruffians — I will 

[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I humpbacked — 
deformed — hideous ? 

Widow. You ! 

Mel. A coward — a thief — a liar 1 

Widow. You ! 

Mel. Or a dull fool — a vain, drivelling, brainless 
idiot ? 

Widow. No, no. 

Mel. What am I then — worse than all these ? Why, 
I am a peasant ! What has a peasant to do with love ? 
Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great 1 
Oh that we — we, the hewers of wood and drawers of 
water — had been swept away, so that the proud might 
learn what the world would be without us ! — 

[Knock at the door. 
Enter Servant from the Inn. 

Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. 

Mel. A letter ! from her perhaps — who sent thee ? 

Servant. Why, Monsieur — I mean Citizen — Beauseant, 
who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his 
chateau. 

Mel. Beauseant ! — [Reads.] 

** Young man, I know thy secret — thou lovest above 
thy station : if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I 



SCENE III.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 123 

! can secure to thee the realization of thy most sanguine 
hopes ; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that 
thou shalt be steadfast to thine -own ends. I shall 

i demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom 
thou lovest ; to bear her to thine home on thy wedding 
night. I am serious — if thou wouldst learn more, lose 
not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy 
friend and patron, — Charles Beauseant." 

Mel. Can I believe my eyes 1 Are our own passions 
the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil 1 
I will go instantly. 

Widow. What is this, Claude 1 

Mel. " Marry her whom thou lovest n — " bear her to 
thine own home." — Oh, revenge and love ; which of you 
is the stronger? — [Gazing on the picture.'] Sweet face, 
thou smilest on me from the canvas : weak fool that I 
am, do I then love her still % No, it is the vision of my 
own romance that I have worshipped : it is the reality 
to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother : I will 
return anon. My brain reels — the earth swims before 
me. — [Looks again at the letter^] No, it is not a mockery ; 
I do not dream ! [ExiL 



124 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT II. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 

TJie gardens of M. Deschappelles' house at Lyons— the house seen 
at the bach of the stage. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 

Beau. Well, what think you of my plot % Has it not 
succeeded to a miracle % The instant that I introduced 
his Highness the Prince of Como to the pompous mother 
and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them : he 
came — he saw — he conquered : and, though it is not 
many days since he arrived, they have already promised 
him the hand of Pauline. 

Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his 
highness travelled incognito, for fear the Directory (who 
are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels ; 
for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and 
scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he 
were watering his own flower-pots. 

Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think the 
sly dog does it out of malice. However, it must be 
owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and 
makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my 
diamond snuff-box. 

Gla. And my diamond ring ! But do you think he 
will be firm to the last 1 I fancy I see symptoms of 
relenting : he will never keep up his rank, if he once let 
out his conscience. 



6CENEI.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 125 

Beau. His oath binds him ! he cannot retract without 
being forsworn, and thoso low fellows are always 
superstitious ! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be dis- 
covered : that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelle.s' 
cousin) evidently suspects him : we must make haste 
and conclude the farce : I have thought of a plan to end 
it this very day. 

Gla. This very day ! Poor Pauline : her dream will 
be soon over. 

Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married ; this evening,, 
according to his oath, he shall carry his bride to the 
Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, 
all shall vanish at once ; and her Highness the Princess 
shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to 
marry the son of a gardener. — Oh, Pauline ! once loved, 
now hated, yet still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the 
cup to the dregs,— thou shalt know what it is to be 
humbled ! 

Enter from the house, Melnotte, as the Prince of Como, leading in 

Pauline ; Madame Deschappelles, fanning herself; and 

Colonel Damas. 

[Beauseant and Glavis boto respectftdly. Pauline and 
Melnotte walk apart. 

Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen ; really I am 
so fatigued with laughter ; the dear Prince is so enter- 
taining. What wit he has ! Any one may see that he 
has spent his whole life in courts. 

Damas. And what the deuce do you know about 
courts, cousin Deschappelles? You women regard men just 
as you buy books — you never care about what is in them, 
but how they are bound and lettered. 'Sdeath, I don't 



126 THE LADY OP LYONS; [ ACT II. 

think you would even look at your Bible if it had not a 
title to it. 

Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas ! — 
quite the manners of a barrack — you don't deserve to be 
one of our family ; really we must drop your acquain- 
tance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any 
relations that would discredit my future son-in-law, the 
Prince of Como. 

Mel. [advancing]. These are beautiful gardens, madame, 
(Beauseant and Glavis retire) — who planned them ? 

Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your 
highness — an honest man who knew his station. I 
can't say as much for his son — a presuming fellow, who, 
— ha! ha! actually wrote verses — such doggerel! — to 
my daughter. 

Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, 
Prince ! — you, who write such beautiful verses ! 

Mel. This Melnotte most be a monstrous impudent 
person ! 

Damas. Is he good-looking ? 

Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille — an ugly, 
mean-looking clown, if I remember right. 

Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonder- 
fully like his highness. 

Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. 

Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas ! — like the 
Prince, indeed ! 

Pauline. Like you ! Ah, mother, like our beautiful 
prince ! I'll never speak to you again, cousin Damas. 

Mel. [aside]. Humph ! — rank is a great beautifier ! I 
never passed for an Apollo while I was a peasant ; if I 
am so handsome as a prince, what should I be as an 



scene l] or, love and pride. 127 

emperor ! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you 
honour me 1 [Offers snuff. 

Beau. No, your highness ; I have no small vices. 

Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it, 
Monsieur Beauseant. 

Mme. Deschap. Ha ! ha ! — how very severe ! — what 
wit ! 

Beau, [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence ! 

Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box ! 

Pauline. And what a beautiful ring ! 

Mel. You like the box — a trifle — interesting perhaps 
from associations — a present from Louis XIV. to my 
great-great-grandmother. Honour me by accepting it. 

Beau, [plucking him by the sleeve]. How ! — what the 
devil ! My box — are you mad ? It is worth five hun- 
dred louis. 

Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to Pauline]. And 
you like this ring 1 Ah, it has, indeed, a lustre since 
your eyes have shone on it [placing it on her finger]. Hence- 
forth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. 

Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay — what are you about 1 
My maiden aunt's legacy — a diamond of the first water. 
You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. 

Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring ; 
it is the one with which my grandfather, the Doge of 
Venice, married the Adriatic ! 

[Madame and Pauline examine the ring. 

Mel. [to Beauseant and Glavis]. Fie, gentlemen ! 
princes must be generous? — [Turns to Damas, who 
ivatches them closely.] These kind friends have my interest 
so much at heart, that they are as careful of my property 
as if it were their own 1 




128 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT II. 

Beau, and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha ! ha ! — very good 
joke that ! 

[Appear to remonstrate with Melnotte in dumb sliow. 

Damas. What's all that whispering 1 I am sure there 
is some juggle here : hang me, if I think he is an Italian 
after all. Gad, I'll try him. Servitore uinillissimo, 
Eccellenza.* 

Mel. Hum — what does he mean, I wonder ? 

Lamas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute, t 

Mel. Hem — hem ! 

Damas. Fa bel tempo — che si dice di nuovo 1 $ 

Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish 1 

Damas. Oh, oh ! — only Italian, your highness ! — The 
Prince of Como does not understand his own language ! 

Mel. Not as you pronounce it ; who the deuce 
could 1 

Mme. Deschap. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas, never pretend 
to what you don't know. 

Pauline. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas ; you speak Italian, 
indeed ! [Makes a mocking gesture at him. 

Beau, [to Gla vis]. Clever dog ! — how ready ! 

Gla. Ready, yes ; with my diamond ring ! — Damn 
his readiness ! 

Damas. Laugh at me ! — laugh at a colonel in the 
French army ! — the fellow's an impostor ; I know he is. 
I'll see if he understands fighting as well as he does 
Italian. — [Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a 
jackanapes ! — Can you construe that 1 

Mel. No, sir ; I never construe affronts in the presence 

* Your Excellency's most humble servant. 
+ I am glad to see you in good health. 
1 Fine weather. What news is there ? 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 121> 

of ladies ; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson — 
or give one. 

Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear ! 

Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin ? 

Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. 

Beau, [to Glavis ]. Let us after, and pacify him ; he 
evidently suspects something. 

Gla. Yes ! — but my diamond ring ! 

Beau. And my box ! — We are over-taxed, fellow-sub- 
jects ! — we must stop the supplies, and dethrone the 
prince. 

Gla. Prince ! — he ought to be heir-apparent to King 
Stork. [Exeunt Beauseant and Gla vis. 

Mme. Descliap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive 
my cousin's insufferable vulgarity 1 

Pauline. Oh yes ! — -you will forgive his manner for the 
sake of his heart. 

Mel. And the sake of his cousin. — Ah, madam, there 
is one comfort in rank, — we are so sure of our position 
that we are not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas has 
bought the right of indulgence from his friends, by never 
showing it to his enemies. 

Pauline. Ah ! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is- 
rude in speech. He rose from the ranks to his present 
grade, and in two years ! 

Mel. In two years ! — two years, did you say 1 

Mme. Deschap. [aside], I don't like leaving girls alone 
with their lovers : but, with a prince, it would be so ill- 
bred to be prudish. [Exit. 

Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one 
who owes his position to merit, — not birth. 

Pauline. Why, yes ; but still — 
K 



130 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT IL 

Mel. Still whit, Pauline ! 

Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage 
of command. A man who has ancestors is like a repre- 
sentative of the past. 

Mel. True ; but, like other representatives, nine times 
out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline ! not to 
the past, but to the future, looks true nobility, and finds 
its blazon in posterity. 

Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no 
ancestors ; but you, prince, must bo proud of so illus- 
trious a race ! 

Mel. No, no ! I would not, were I fifty times a 
prince, be a pensioner on the dead ! I honour birth and 
ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to ex- 
ertion, not the title-deeds to sloth ! I honour the 
laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers ; — it is 
our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath the 
evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may 
repose ! Dearest ! couldst thou but see with my 
eyes ! 

Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, 
and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me 
again of thy palace by the Lake of Como ; it is so pleasant 
to hear of thy splendours since thou didst swear to me 
that they would be desolate without Pauline j and when 
thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble 
scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. 

Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint 
The home to which, could love fulfil its prayers, 
This hand would lead thee, listen ! * — A deep vale 

* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of 
Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does not say 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 131 

Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; 
Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold 
And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies, 
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, 
As I would have thy fate ! 

Pauline. My own dear love ! 

Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer 
Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower 
Of coolest foliage musical with birds, 
"Whose songs should syllable thy name ! At noon 
We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder 
Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens 
Still left us youth and love ! We'd have no friends 
That were not lovers ; no ambition, save 
To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books 
That were not tales of love — that we might smile 
To think how poorly eloquence of words 
Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! 
And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens 
We'd guess what star should be our home when love 
Becomes immortal ; while the perfumed light 
Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, 
And every air was heavy with the sighs 
Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, 

he possesses, but to which he would lead her, " could Love fulfil its 
prayers." This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic 
who censures the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic 
inventory of the characteristics of the Lake of Como ! — WbenMel- 
notte, for instance, talks of birds " that syllable the name of Pauline" 
(by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not 
thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He 
is venting the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the poet and 
the lover. • 

K 2 



132 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT IL 

And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses ! — Dost thou like the picture ? 

Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang 
Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! 
Am I not blest ? And if I love too wildly, 
Who would not love thee like Pauline ? 

Mel. [bitterly]. Oh, false one ! 

It is the prince thou lovest, not the man : 
If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, 
I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, 
Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue ; — Pauline, 
That is not love ! 

Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince ! 

At first, in truth, I might not have been won, 
Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride ; 
But now, — oh ! trust me, — couldst thou fall from power 
And sink 

Mel. As low as that poor gardeners son 

Who dared to lift his eyes to thee 1 — 

Pauline. Even then, 

Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear 
By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep 
Is woman's love ! We are like the insects, caught 
By the poor glittering of a garish flame ; 
But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star 
Lures us no more ; and by the fatal light 
We cling till death ! 

Mel. Angel ! 

[^s?£?e.] conscience ! conscience ! 
It must not be ; — her love hath grown a torture 
Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, 
And — ha ! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave met 



SCENE I.] OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 133 

I have business with these gentlemen — I — I 
Will forthwith join you. 

Pauline. Do not tarry long ! 

[ExU. 
Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 

Mel. Release me from my oath, — I will not marry her ! 

Beau. Then thou art perjured. 

Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee 
to marry her ! I was blind to all but her scorn ! — deaf 
to all but my passion and my rage ! Give me back my 
poverty and my honour ! 

Beau. It is too late, — you must marry her ! and this 
day. I have a story already coined, and sure to pass 
current. This Damas suspects thee, — he will set the 
police to work ; — thou wilt be detected — Pauline will 
despise and execrate thee. Thou will be sent to the com- 
mon gaol as a swindler. 

Mel. Fiend! 

Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you 
know of what resentment is capable), and the parents' 
shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers — 
even perhaps your humble servant. 

Mel. You ! No ; that were worse — for thou hast no 
mercy ! I will marry her — I will keep my oath. Quick, 
then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching ; 
— quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or 
myself. 

Gla. What a tiger ! Too fierce for a prince ; — he 
ought to have been the Grand Turk. 

Beau. Enough — I will despatch ; be prepared. 

[Exeunt Beause-ant and Glavis. 



134 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT II. 

Enter Dam as ivith two swords. 

Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your 
excuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries ; 
let us see if your Highness can find out the Latin for 
bilbo. 

Mel. Away, sir ! I am in no humour for jesting. 

Damas. I see you understand something of the gram- 
mar ; you decline the noun-substantive " small-sword " 
with great ease ; but that won't do — you must take a 
lesson in parsing. 

Mel. Fool! 

Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the 
man who calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me ; 
there's no escape for you — fight you shall, or 

Mel. Oh, enough ! enough ! — take your ground. 

[They fight; Damas is disarmed. Melnotte takes up the 
sword and returns it to Damas respectfully. 

A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the State 
of its best property — the sole right to his valour and his 
life. 

Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well ; you must be 
a man of honour — I don't care a jot whether you are a 
prince ; but a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers' 
ends must be a gentleman. 

Mel. [aside]. Gentleman ! Ay, I was a gentleman 
before I turned conspirator ; for honest men are the gen- 
tlemen of Nature ! Colonel, they tell me you rose from 
the ranks. 

Damas. I did. 

Mel. And in two years 1 

Damas. It is true ; that's no wonder in our army at 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 135 

present. Why the oldest general in the service is scarcely 
thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. 

Mel. Two-and-twenty ! 

jDamas. Yes ; in the French army, now a days, pro- 
motion is not a matter of purchase. We are all heroes, 
because we may be all generals. We have no fear of the 
cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. 

Mel. A general at two-and-twenty ! [turning away] — 
Sir, I may ask you a favour one of these days, 

Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is 
astonishing how much I like a man after I've fought 
with him. [Hides the swords. 

Enter Madame Deschappelles and Beauseant. 

Mine. Deschap. Oh, prince, — prince ! — What do I 
hear 1 You must fly — you must quit us ! 

Mel I !— 

Beau. Yes, prince : read this letter, just received from 
my friend at Paris, one of the Directory ; they suspect 
you of designs against the Republic : they are very 
suspicious of princes, and your family take part with the 
Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your highness 
at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that you must 
quit the town immediately, or* you will be arrested, — 
thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined ! Fly ! — I will 
order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles ; 
there you can take ship to Leghorn. 

Mme. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline 1 Am 
I not to be mother to a princess, after all 1 

Enter Pauline and Monsieur Deschappeles. 
Pauline [throwing herself into Melnotte's arms]. You 
must leave us ! — Leave Pauline ! 



136 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT II. 

Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. 

M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and in- 
quire — 

Beau. Then he is lost ; the magistrates, hearing he is 
•suspected, will order his arrest. 

Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess- 
dowager ! 

Beau. Why not ? There is only one thing to be done : 
— 3end for the priest — let the marriage take place at once, 
and the prince carry home a bride 1 

Mel. Impossible ! — [Aside]. Villain. 

Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child ? 

Beau. And gain a princess ! 

Mme. Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so 
very kind, it must be so, — we ought not to be selfish, my 
-daughter's happiness at stake. She will go away, too, 
in a carriage and six ! 

Pauline. Thou art here still, — I cannot part from 
thee, — my heart will break. 

Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union 1 — 
thou wilt not wed an outcast — a fugitive 1 

Pauline. Ah ! if thou art in danger, who should share 
it but Pauline 1 

Mel. [aside]. Distraction ! — If the earth could swallow 
me ! 

M. Desclwup. Gently ! gently ! The settlements — the 
contracts — my daughter's dowry ! 

Mel. The dowry ! — I am not base enough for that ; 
no, not one farthing ! 

Beau, [to Madam]. Noble fellow ! — Really your good 
husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur 
Deschappelles, you hear his highness : we can arrange 



SCENE I.] OB, LOVE AND PRIDE. 137 

the settlements by proxy ; 'tis the way with people of 
quality. 

M. Deschap. But 

Mme. Deschap. Hold your tongue ! — Don't expose 
yourself ! 

Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of 
you and prepare ; the carriage shall be at the door before 
the ceremony is over. 

Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant ! 
You are very good to have forgiven us for refusing you ; 
but you see — a prince ! 

Beau. And such a prince ! Madame, I cannot blush 
at the success of so illustrious a rival. — [^iszV/e.] Now 
will I follow them to the village, enjoy my triumph, and 
to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, 
proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of 
the gardener's son. [Exit. 

Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give 
your arm to her highness that is to be. 

M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a 
hurry ; 'tis not the way with the house of Deschappelles 
and Co. 

Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the 
counting-house, don't you 1 ' [Pushes him to Pauline. 

Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline — one word. Have you no 
scruple, no fear % Speak — it is not yet too late. 

Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fete became mine. 
Triumph or danger — joy or sorrow — I am by thy 
side. 

Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be 
so loved. She is good little girl in spite of her foibles — 
make her as happy as if she were not to be a princess 



138 THE LADY OF LYONS; f ACT HI. 

[slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I wish you 
joy — young — tender — lovely ; — zounds, I envy you ! 

Mel. [ivlio has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do 
you % * 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 

The exterior of the Golden Lion — time, twilight. The moon rises 
during the scene. 

Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn, 

Land. Ha — ha — ha ! Well, I never shall get over it. 
Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His 
carriage breaks down at my inn — ha — ha ! 

Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself ! 
" Is this the best room you have, young woman ? " with 
such a toss of the head. 

Land. Well, get in Janet : get in and see to the 
supper : the servants must sup before they go back. 

[Exeunt. 

• On the stage the following lines are added : — 

" Do you ? Wise judges are we of each other. 
' Woo, wed, and bear her home ! ' So runs the bond 
To which I sold myself, — and then — what then ? 
Away ? — I will not look beyond the hour. 
Like children in the dark, I dare not face 
The shades that gather round me in the distance. 
You envy me — I thank you — you may read 
My joy upon my brow — I thank you, sir ! 
If hearts had audible language, you would hear 
What mine would answer when you talk of envy I n 






SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 139 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 

Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last — one 
stage more, and she'll be at her journey's end — the 
"beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps ! — ha — ha ! 

Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline — especially if she's 
going to sup at the Golden Lion [makes a wry face], I 
shall never forget that cursed ragout. 

Enter Melnotte from the Inn. 

Beau. Your servant, my prince ; you reigned most 
worthily. I condole with you on your abdication. I 
am afraid that your highness's retinue are not very 
faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the 
moment of your fall — 'tis the fate of greatness. But 
you are welcome to your line clothes — also the diamond 
snuff-box, which Louis XIY. gave to your great-great- 
grandmother. 

Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the 
Doge of Yenice married the Adriatic. 

Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen — say, have I 
kept my oath 1 

Beau. Most religiously. 

Mel. Then you have done with me and mine— away 
with you ! 

Beau. How, knave ? 

Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors 
that we are, we have won the victory over a simple girl 
— compromised her honour — embittered her life — blasted, 
in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This 
is your triumph, — it is my shame ! [Turns to Beauseant.] 
Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was her be- 
trayer — I am her protector ! Cross but her path — 



HO TIIL LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT III. 

one word of scorn, one look of insult — nay, but one 
quiver of that mocking lip, and 1 will teach thee that 
bitter word thou hast graven eternally in this heart — 
Repentance ! 

Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. 

Mel. Highness me no more ! Beware ! Remorse has 
made me a new being. Away with you ! There is 
danger in me. Away ! 

Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with : 
come away, Beauseant. 

Beau. I know the respect due to rank. Adieu, my 
prince. Any commands at Lyons 1 Yet hold — I pro- 
mised you 200 louis on your wedding-day ; here they 
are. 

Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you re- 
venge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas ; 
take it. — Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. 

Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some day. 
[Aside to Glavis.] Come to my chateau — I shall return 
hither to-morrow, to learn how Pauline likes her new 
dignity. 

Mel. Are. you not gone yet? 

Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful — 

Gla. And most humble servants. Ha ! ha ! 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis. 

Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have 
slain them. Wretch ! what can I say 1 Where turn 1 
On all sides mockery — the very boors within — [Laughter 
from the Inn]. — 'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the 
exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will 
go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my 
mother's house. There, at least, none can insult her 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 141 

agony — gloat upon her shame ! There alone must she 
learn what a villain she has sworn to love. 

[As he turns to the door enter Pauline from the inn. 

Pauline. Ah ! my lord, what a place ! I never saw 
such rude people. They stare and wink so. I think 
the very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, 
turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage 
should break down in such a spot ! You are not 
well — the drops stand on your brow. — your hand is 
feverish. 

Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm ; the air 

Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south — 
How pale he is ! — indeed thou art not well. 
Where are our people ? I will call them. 

Mel. Hold r 

I — I am well. 

Pauline. Thou art ! — Ah ! now I know it. 

Thou fanciest, my kind lord — I know thou dost — 
Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, 
Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline ; 
And so they might, but thou art by my side, 
And I forget all else. 

Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing 
over his shoulder. 

Land. My lord — your highness — 

Will your most noble excellency choose — 

Mel. Begone, sir ! [Exit Landlord laughing. 

Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank ? 

One's servants are so vain ! — nay, let it not 
Chafe thee, sweet prince ! — a few short days and we 
Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, 



142 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT III. 

And — nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles 
Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser 1 

Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair 
one. 
Let us escape these rustics : close at hand 
There is a cot, where I have bid prepare 
Our evening lodgment — a rude, homely roof, 
But honest, where our welcome will not be 
Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues 
That are as death to Love ! A heavenly night ! 
The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. 
Wilt walk 1 I pray thee, now, — I know the path, 
Ay, every inch of it ! 

Pauline. What, thou ! methought 

Thou wert a stranger in these parts 1 Ah, truant, 
Some village beauty lured thee ; — thou art now 
Grown constant % 

Mel. Trust me. 

Pauline. Princes are so changeful ? 

Mel. Come, dearest, come. 

Pauline. Shall I not call our people 

To light us ? 

Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches I 

It is not far. 

Pauline. The night breeze chills me. 

Mel. Nay, 

Let me thus mantle thee ; — it is not cold. 

Pauline. Never beneath thy smile ! 

Mel. [aside]. O Heaven ! forgive me ! 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 143 



SCENE II. 

Melnotte's cottage— Widow bustling about— a table spread for 
supper. 

Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me 
a line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he 
would be here almost immediately. She must have loved 
him well indeed to have forgotten his birth ; for though 
he was introduced to her in diguise, he is too honourable 
not to have revealed to her the artifice, which her love 
only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it ; for 
though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and 
that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.] Ah ! here 
they are. 

Enter Melnotte and Pauline. 

Widow. Oh, my boy — the pride of my heart ! — wel- 
come, welcome ! I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so ! 

Pauline. Good woman, I really — why prince, what is 
this 1 — does the old lady know you 1 Oh, I guess, you 
have done her some service. Another proof of your kind 
heart ; is it not 1 

Mel. Of my kind heart, ay ! 

Pauline. So you know the prince ? 

Widow. Know him, madam ? — Ah, I begin to fear it 
is you who know him not ! 

Pauline. Do you think she is mad 1 Can we stay 
here, my lord % I think there's something, very wild 
about her. 



144 THE LADY OF LYONS; f ACT III. 

Mel. Madam, I — no, I cannot tell her ; my knees knock 
together : what a coward is a man who has lost his 
honour ! Speak to her — speak to her [to his mother] — 
tell her that — O Heaven, that I were dead ! 

Pauline. How confused he looks ! — this strange place * 
— this woman — what can it mean 1 — I half suspect — Who 
are you, madam ! — who are you 1 can't you speak 1 are 
you struck dumb 1 

Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her ? — Ah, 
shame upon you ! I thought that, before you went to the 
altar, she was to have known all. 

Pauline. All ! what ! — My blood freezes in my veins ! 

Widow. Poor lady ! — dare I tell her, Claude ? 
[Melnotte makes a sign of assent] Know you not then, 
madam, that this young man is of poor though honest 
parents ? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, 
Claude Melnotte? 

Pauline. Your son ! hold — hold ! do not speak to me. 
— [ApproacJws Melnotte, and lays her hand on his arm.] 
Is this a jest 1 is it ? I know it is, only speak — one 
word — one look — one smile. I cannot believe — I who 
loved thee so — I cannot believe that thou art such a — 
No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word — Speak ! 

Mel. Leave us — have pity on her, on me : leave us. 

Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee 
bowed by shame ! thee of whom I was so proud ! 

[Exit by the staircase. 

Pauline. Her son — her son ! 

Mel. Now, lady, hear me. 

Pauline. Hear thee ! 

Ay, speak — her son ! have fiends a parent 1 speak, 
That thou mayst silence curses — speak 1 



SCE2IE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 145 

Mel. No, curse me : 

Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. 

Pauline [laughing wildly], " This is thy palace, where 
the perfumed light 
Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, 
And every air is heavy with the sighs 
Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, 
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses ! " Dost thou like the picture ? 
This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. 

fool — O dupe — O wretch ! — I see it all — 
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 

In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness 1 if thou hast, why, kill me, 
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot — 
It cannot be : this is some horrid dream : 

1 shall wake soon. — [Touching him.~\ Art flesh 1 art man ? 

or but 
The shadows seen in sleep ? It is too real. 
AVhat have I done to thee 1 how sinn'd against thee, 
That thou shouldst crush me thus 1 

Mel. Pauline, by pride 

Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — 
The evil spirit of a bitter love, 
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee : 
I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy 
Tended, unmark'd by thee — a spirit of bloom, 
And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself 
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man 



146 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT III 

Ed lord the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. 
And from that hour I grew — what to the last 
I shall be — thine adorer ! Well, this love 
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from kings 
Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how love, like death, 
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home- 
In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 
My father died ; and I, the peasant-born, 
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 
And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 
Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom 
From those twin gaolers of the daring heart — 
Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image 
Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 
And lured me on to those inspiring toils 
By which man masters men ! For thee I grew 
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. 
For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, 
And every muse, such attributes as lend 
Ideal charms to love. T thought of thee, 
And passion taught me poesy — of thee, 
And on the painter's canvas grew the life 
Of beauty ! Art became the shadow 
Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 
Men call'd me vain — some mad — I heeded not ; 
But still toil'd on — hoped on — for it was sweet, 
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ? 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 147 

Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ! 

Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 
And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady, 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
The name — appended by the burning heart 
That long'd to show its idol what bright things- 
It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name, 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 
That very hour — when passion, turn'd to wrath, 
Eesembled hatred most — when thy disdain 
Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm— - 
It turn'd and stung thee ! 

Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. 

What was the slight of a poor powerless girl 
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge 1 
Oh, how I loved this man ! — a serf ! — a slave ! 

Mel. Hold, lady ! No, not slave ! Despair is free ! 
I will not tell thee of the throes — the struggles — 
The anguish — the remorse : No, let it pass ! 
And let me come to such most poor atonement 

Yet in my power. Pauline ! 

[Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. 

Pauline. No, touch me not ! 

I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 
And I — O Heaven ! — a peasant's wife ! I'll work — 
Toil — drudge — do what thou "wilt — but touch me not ; 
Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 

Mel. Do not fear me. 

Thou dost not know me, madam : at the altar 
l 2 



148 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT IV. 

My vengeance ceased — my guilty oath expired ! 

Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, 

Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more 

From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. 

I am thy husband — nay, thou need'st not shudder ; — 

Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. 

A marriage thus unholy — unfulfill'd — 

A bond of fraud — is, by the laws of France, 

Made void and null. To-night sleep — sleep, in peace. 

To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 

I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, 

Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 

The law shall do thee justice, and restore 

Thy right to bless another with thy love. 

And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 

Him who so loved — so wrong'd thee, think at least 

Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 

In that poor peasant's nature ! 

Ho ! my mother ! 
Enter Widow. 
'Conduct this lady — (she is not my wife ; 
She is our guest, — our honour'd guest, my mother) — 
To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, 
Never, beneath my father's honest roof, 
Ev'n villains dared to mar ! Now, lady, now, 
I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother ! 

. Widow. She is not thy wife ! 

.Mel. Hush, hush ! for mercy's sake ! 

Speak not, but go. 

[Widow ascends the stairs ; Pauline follows weeping — turns 
to look back. 

Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her ! 



SCENE I.J OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 149 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 

The cottage as before — Melnotte seated before a table — writing 
implements, &c. — {Day breaking.) 

Mel. Hush, hush ! — she sleeps at last ! — thank Heaven, 
for a while she forgets even that I live ! Her sobs, which 
have gone to my heart the whole, long, desolate night, 
have ceased ! — all calm — all still ! I will go now ; I will 
send this letter to Pauline's father : when he arrives, I 
will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, 
and then, O France ! my country ! accept among thy 
protectors, thy defenders — the Peasant's Son ! Our coun- 
try is less proud than custom, and does not refuse the 
blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man. 
Enter Widow. 

Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill ; but sin brings its 
own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not 
for a mother to reproach thee. 

Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all 
men, who have the virtue to repent, and the energy to 
atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, 
remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For 
the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear 
with her. If she weep, console — if she chide, be silent. 
'Tis but a little while more — I shall send an express fast 
as horse can speed to her father. Farewell ! I shall 
return shortly. 

Widow. It is the only course left to thee — thou wert 



lt>0 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT IV 

led astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right 
still, as ever it was when, in thy most ambitious hopes, 
thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. 

Mel. Ashamed of thee ! No, if I yet endure, yet live, 
yet hope — it is only because I would not die till I hare 
redeemed the noble heritage I have lost — the heritage I 
took unstained from thee and my dead father — a proud 
conscience and an honest name.' I shall win them back 
yet — Heaven bless you ! [Exit. 

Widow. My dear Claude ! How my heart bleeds for 
him. 

[Pauline looks down from above, and after a pause descends. 

Pauline. Not here ! — he spares me that pain at least : 
so far he is considerate — yet the place seems still more 
desolate without him. Oh, that I could hate him — the 
gardener's son ! — and yet how nobly he — no — no — no I 
will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him ! 

Widow. Good morning, madam ; I would have waited 
on you if I had known you were stirring. 

Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am — your son's wife ought 
to wait on herself. 

Widow. My son's wife — let not that thought vex you, 
madam — he tells me that you will have your divorce. 
And I hope I shall live to see him smile again. There 
are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, who 
may yet console him. 

Pauline. I dare say — they are very welcome — and 
when the divorce is got — he will marry again. I am sure 
I hope so. [ Weeps. 

Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the 
province, if he had pleased it ; but his head was turned 
poor child ! he could think of nothing but you. [Weeps. 



SCENE I.] OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 151 

Pauline. Don't weep, mother. 

Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love 
is so headstrong in the young. Don't weep, madam. 

Pauline. So, as you were saying — go on. 

Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am — he was not 
in his right senses. 

Pauline. But he always — always [sobbi7ig\ loved— 
loved me then 1 

Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here — he 
learnt to paint that he might take your likeness [uncovers 
the picture]. But that's all over now — I trust you have 
cured liim of his folly ; — but, dear heart you have had no 
breakfast ! 

Pauline. I can't take anything — don't trouble your- 
self. 

Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded ; a little coffee will 
refresh you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will 
get out Claude's coffee-cup — it is of real Sevres ; he saved 
up all Ins money to buy it three years ago, because the 
name of Pauline was inscribed on it. 

Pauline. Three years ago ! Poor Claude ! — Thank 
you ; I think I will have some coffee. Oh ! if he were 
but a poor gentleman, even a merchant : but a gardener's 
son — and what a home ! — Oh. no, it is too dreadful ! 

[Tliey seat themselves at the table, Beau se ant opens the 
lattice and looks in. 

Beau. So — so — the coast is clear ! I saw Claude in 
the lane — I shall have an excellent opportunity. 

[Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door. 

Pauline [starting]. Can it be my father 1 — he has not 
sent for him yet 1 No, he cannot be in such a hurry ta 
get rid of me. 



152 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT IV. 

Widow, It is not time for your father to arrive yet ; 
it must be some neighbour. 
Pauline. Don't admit any one. 

[Widow opens the door, Beauseant pus7ies her aside and 

enters. 

Ha ! Heavens ! that hateful Beauseant ! This is 
indeed bitter S 

Beau. Good morning, madam ! O widow, your son 
begs you will have the goodness to go to him in the 
village — he wants to speak to you on particular business ; 
you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or the 
baker's, or at some other friend's of your family — make 
haste. 

Pauline. Don't leave me, mother ! — don't leave me. 

Beau, [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. 
Believe me your friend — your servant. 

Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house ! 
Go, madam, if your son wishes it ; I will not contradict 
his commands whilst, at least, he has still the right to be 
obeyed. 

Widow. I don't understand this ; however, I shan't be 
long gone. [Exit. 

Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit — you 
wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled 
you. Be it so j I am prepared to endure all — even your 
presence ! 

Beau. You mistake me, madam — Pauline, you mistake 
me ! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You must 
already be disenchanted with this impostor ; these walls 
are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty ! Shall 
that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born 



BCENEI.] OR, LOVE AND PRTDE. 153 

peasant ? Beloved, beautiful Pauline ! fly with ine — my 
carriage waits without — I will bear you to a home more 
meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station — all 
shall yet be yours. I forg t your past disdain — I re- 
member only your beauty and my unconquerable love ! 

Pauline. Sir ! leave this house — it is humble : but a 
husband's roof, however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and 
man, the temple of a wife's honour ! Know that I would 
rather starve — yes — with him who has betrayed me, than 
accept your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose 
name he bore ! — Go. 

Beau. What is not your pride humbled yet 1 

Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction 
becomes virtue. 

Beau. Look round : these rugged floors — these homely 
walls — this wretched struggle of poverty for comfort — 
think of this ! and contrast with such a picture the re- 
finement, the luxury, the pomp, that the wealthiest gen- 
tleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear 
me ! 

Pauline. Oh ! my father ! — why did I leave you ? — 
why am I thus friendless 1 Sir, you see before you a 
betrayed, injured, miserable woman ! — respect her 
anguish ! 

[Melnotte opens the door silently, and pauses at the 
threshold. 

Beau. No ! let me rather thus console it ; let me 
snatch from those lips one breath of that fragrance which 
never should be wasted on the low churl thy husband. 

Pauline. Help ! Claude ! — Claude ! — Have I no pro- 
tector 1 

Beau. Be silent ! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come 



151 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT IV. 

unprepared even for violence. I will brave all things — 
thy husband and all his race — for thy sake. Thus, then, 
I clasp thee ! 

Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage], Pauline 
— look up. Pauline ! thou art safe. 

Beau, [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a 
man of my birth, ruffian ? 

Pauline. Oh, spare him — spare my husband ! — Beau- 
seant — Claude — no — no [faints]. 

Mel. Miserable trickster ! shame upon you ! brave 
devices to terrify a woman ! Coward ! — you tremble — 
you have outraged the laws — you know that your weapon is 
harmless — you have the courage of the mountebank, not 
the bravo ! — Pauline, there is no danger. 

Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman — as it is, thou art 
beneath me. — Good day, and a happy honeymoon. — 
[.4si'g7c.] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit. 

Mel. I hold her in these arms — the last embrace ! 
Never, ah never more, shall this dear head 
Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd 
And has betray'd ! — Soft — soft ! one kiss — poor wretch ! 
No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now ! 
One kiss — so ends all record of my crime ! 
It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, 
By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits 
Sad memory evermore ; — she breathes — she moves — 
She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shuddei 
Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. 

[Places her on a seat, 
There — we are strangers now ! 

Pauline. All gone — all calm — 

Is every thing a dream 1 thou art safe, unhurt — 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 155 

I do not love thee ; but — but I am woman, 
And — and — no blood is spilt 1 

Mel. No, lady, no ; 

My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing 
As even danger in thy cause. 

Enter "Widow. 

Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of 
you ; why did you send for me ? 

Mel. I did not send for you. 

Widow. No ! but I must tell you your express has re- 
turned. 

Mel. So soon ! impossible ! 

Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on 
the road ; they were going into the country on a visit. 
Your messenger says that Monsieur Deschappelles turned 
almost white with anger when he read your letter. They 
will be here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude ! 
what will they do to you 1 How I tremble ! Ah, 
madam ! do not let them injure him — if you knew how 
he doated on you. 

Pauline. Injure him ! no, ma'am, be not afraid ; — my 
father ! how shall I meet him 1 how go back to Lyons 1 
the scoff of the whole city ! Cruel, cruel, Claude [in great 
agitation]. Sir, you have acted most treacherously. 

Mel. I know it, madam. 

Pauline [aside]. If he would but ask me to forgive him ! 
— I never can forgive you, sir. 

Mel. I never dared to hope it. 

Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have 
sworn to — to love you, sir. 

Mel. That was under a false belief, madam ; Heaven 
and the laws will release you from your vow. 



1-56 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT IV. 

Pauline. He will drive me mad ! if he were but less 
proud — if he would but ask me to remain — hark, hark — 
T hear the wheels of the carriage — Sir — Claude, they are 
coming ; have you no word to say ere it is too late 1 
Quick — speak. 

Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Be- 
hold your parents ! 

Enter Monsieur and Madame Deschappelles and 
Colonel Damas. 

M. Deschap. My child ! my child ! 

Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline ! — what a villanous 
hovel this is ! Old woman, get me a chair — I shall faint 
— I certainly shall. What will the world say 1 Child, 
you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily- broken. 

Damas. Ha, ha ! most noble Prince — I am sorry to 
see a man of your quality in such a condition ; I am 
afraid your highness will go to the House of Correction. 

Mel. Taunt on, sir ; I spared you when you were 
unarmed — I am unarmed now. A man who has no 
excuse for crime is indeed defenceless ! 

Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all ! 

M. Deschap). Where is the impostor ? — Are you thus 
shameless traitor 1 Can you brave the presence of that 
girl's father 1 

Mel. Strike me, if it please you — you are her father. 

Pauline. Sir — sir, for my sake ; — whatever his guilt, 
he has acted nobly in atonement. 

Mme. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl ? I' have 
no patience with you — to disgrace all your family thus ! 
— Nobly ! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, 
ugly villain ! 



SCENE I.] OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 157 

Damas. Ugly ! Why he was beautiful yesterday ! 

Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. 
Respect your daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. 

Mme. Deschap. You — you — Oh, I'm choking. 

M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a 
conscience like yours — you renounce all pretensions to 
the person of this lady 1 

Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to 
a divorce — my full confession of the fraud which annuls 
the marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged — 
I grant it, sir ; but her own lips will tell you that, from 
the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned 
to my own station, and respected hers. Pure and 
inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon 
her head, and blessed her, I yield her back to you, For 
myself — I deliver you for ever from my presence. An 
outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant land, where 
I may mourn my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. 
Farewell — farewell to you all, for ever ! 

Widow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor 
old mother 1 She does not disown you in your sorrow — 
no, not even in your guilt. No divorce can separate a 
mother from her son. 

JPatdine. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, 
mother, — no, for you are now my mother also ! — nor 
should any law, human or divine, separate the wife 
from her husband's sorrows. Claude — Claude — all is 
forgotten — forgiven — I am thine for ever ! 

Mme. Descliap. What do I hear? — Come away, or 
never see my face again. 

M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you ! — do you 
forsake us for him 1 



158 THE LADY OF LY02 



ACT IV. 



Pauline [going back to her fathcr~\. Oh no — but you 
will forgive him too ; we will live together — he shall be 
your son. 

M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your 
parents ! His home shall be yours — his fortune yours — 
his fate yours : the wealth I have acquired by honest 
industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. 

Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury 
while a husband toils ! Claude, take me ; thou canst 
not give me wealth, titles, station — but thou canst give 
me a true heart. I will work for thee, tend thee, bear 
with thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee 
for the past. 

Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber ! 

Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all ! — What a heart 
I have wronged ! — Do not fear me, sir ; I am not all 
hardened — I will not rob her of a holier love than mine. 
Pauline ! — angel of love and mercy ! — your memory shall 
lead me back to virtue ! — The husband of a being so 
beautiful in her noble and sublime tenderness may be 
poor — may be low-born ;- — (there is no gvilt in the 
decrees of providence ! )- — but he should be one who can 
look thee in the face without a blush, — to whom thy 
love does not bring remorse, — who can fold thee to his 

heart, and say, — "Here there is no deceit ! " 1 am 

not that man ! 

Damas [aside to Melnotte]. Thou art a noble fellow, 
notwithstanding ; and wouldst make an excellent soldier. 
Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter from the 
Directory — our young general takes the command of the 
army in Italy, — I am to join him at Marseilles, — I will 
depart this day, if thou wilt go with me. 



8CENEI.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 159 

Mel. It is the favour I would have asked thee, if I 
dared. Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded, — 
wherever Frauce most needs a life ! 

Damas. There shall not '' be a forlorn hope without 
thee! 

Mel. There is my hand ! — mother, your blessing. I shall 
see you again, — a better man than a prince, — a man who 
has bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. 
And thou ! — thou ! so wildly worshipped, so guiltily 
betrayed, — all is not yet lost ! — for thy memory, at least, 
must be mine till death ! If I live, the name of him thou 
hast once loved shall not rest dishonoured ; — if I fall, amidst 
the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back 
to thee, and love shall share with death my last sigh ! — 
More — more would I speak to thee ! — to pray ! — to bless ! 
But no ; — When I am less unworthy I will utter it to 

Heaven ! — I cannot trust myself to [turning to 

Deschappelles,] Your pardon, sir ; — they are my last 
words — Farewell ! [Exit. 

Damas. I will go after him. — France will thank me 
for this. [Exit. 

JPauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude ! — 
Claude ! — my husband ! 

M. Leschap. You have a father still 1 



160 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT V. 



ACT V. 

Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. 

SCENE I. 

The Streets of Lyons. 

Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. 

First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant 
old Damas : it is his native place. 

Second Officei\ Yes ; he has gained a step in the army 
since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very 
proud of stout General Damas. 

Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. 
This mysterious Morier, — the hero of Lodi, and the 
favourite of the commander-in-chief, — has risen to a 
colonel's rank in two years and a half. 

Enter Damas, as a General. 

Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will 
amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is 
a fine city : improved since I left it. Ah ! it is a pleasure 
to grow old,— when the years that bring decay to our- 
selves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You 
have not met with Morier % 

First Officer. No : we were just speaking of him. 

Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this 
Morier really is 1 

Damas. Is ! — why a colonel in the French army. 

Third Officer. True. But what was he at first ? 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 1CI 

Dumas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. 

First Officer. Ha, ha ! Ever facetious, general. 

Second Officer [to Third]. The general is sore upon this 
point ; you will only chafe him. — Any commands, general ? 

Damas. None. Good day to you. 

[Exeunt Second and Third Officers. 

Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor 
Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. 

First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His con- 
stant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits, — his daring 
valour, his brilliant rise in the profession, — your friend- 
ship, and the favours of the commander-in-chief, — all tend 
to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admira- 
tion. But where is he, general 1 I have missed him all 
the morning. 

Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My 
young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of find- 
ing a miracle. 

First Officer. A miracle ! 

Damas. Yes, a miracle ! in other words, — a constant 
woman. 

First Officer. Oh ! an affair of love ! 

Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons 
than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his 
horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can 
know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady 
is still true to a certain gentleman ! 

First Officer. Success to him ! — and of that success 
there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the 
hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest 
families in France. 

Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady 

M 



162 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [ACT V. 

and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the 
way, captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, 
tell him he will find me at the hotel. 

First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. 

Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make 
a report to my young Colonel. Ha ! by Mars, Bacchus, 
Apollo, Virorum, — >here comes Monsieur Beauseant ! 

Enter Beauseant. 

Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant ! How fares it with you % 

Beau, [aside]. Dam as ! that is unfortunate ; — if the 
Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may 
seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. [Aloud.] 
Your servant, general, — for such, I think, is your new 
distinction ! Just arrived in Lyons 1 

Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Des- 
chappelles 1 ? Have they forgiven you in that affair of 
young Melnotte 1 You had some hand in that notable 
device, — eh 1 

Beau. Why, less than you think for ! The fellow im- 
posed upon me. I have set it all right now. What has 
become of him 1 He could not have joined the army, 
after all. There is no such name in the books. 

Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, 
I never heard the name in the Grand Army. 

Beau. Hem ! — You are not married, general ? 

Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir 1 — No, thank 
Heaven ! My profession is to make widows, not wives. 

Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy ! 
Pauline will be your heiress — eh 1 

Damas. Booty ! Not I ! Heiress to what 1 Two 
trunks and a portmanteau, — four horses, — three swords, 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 163 

— two suits of regimentals, and six pair of white leather 
inexpressibles ! A pretty fortune for a young lady ! 

Beau, [aside]. Then all is safe ! [-4ftrao?.] Ha ! ha ! 
Is that really all your capital, General Damas % Why, I 
thought Italy had been a second Mexico to you soldiers. 

Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky 
ones ! My friend Morier, indeed, saved something hand- 
some. But our commander-in-chief took care of him, and 
Morier is a thrifty, economical dog, — not like the rest of 
us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it 
were our blood. 

Beau. "Well, it is no matter ! I do not want fortune 
with Pauline. And you must know, General Damas, 
that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward 
my long and ardent attachment. 

Damas. You ! — the devil ! "Why, she is already mar- 
ried ! There is no divorce ! 

Beau. True ; but this very day she is formally to 
authorize the necessary proceedings, — this very day she 
is to siscn the contract that is to make her mine within 
one week from the day on which her present illegal mar- 
riage is annulled. 

Damas. You tell me wonders ! — Wonders ! No ; I 
believe anything of women ! 

Beau. I must wish you good morning. 

[As he is going, enter Deschappelles. 

M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant ! well met. Let us come 
to the notary at once. 

Damas [to Descliap.~\. Why, cousin ! 

M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on 
us ; my wife will be delighted to see you. 
m 2 



164 THE LADY OF LYONS J [ACT V. 

Damas. Your wife be — blessed for her condescension ! 
But [taking him aside] what do I hear 1 Is it possible 
that your daughter has consented to a divorce 1 — that she 
will marry Monsieur Beauseant 1 

M. Deschap. Certainly ! What have you to say against 
it ! A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. We are 
not so proud as we were ; even my wife has had enough 
of nobility and princes ! 

Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so ten- 
derly i 

M. Descliap. [taking snuff ]. That was two years and a 
half ago ! 

Damas. Yery true. Poor Melnotte ! 

M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor ; I hope 
he is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were he in 
Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an 
honourable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget 
her sufferings and his crime. 

Damas. Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. 
Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to 
be signed this very day. 

M. Deschap. It is ; at one o'clock precisely. Will you 
be one of the witnesses ? 

Damas. It — No; that is to say — yes, certainly! — at 
one o'clock I will wait on you. 

M. Dcsdiap. Till then, adieu — come Beauseant. 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Deschappelles. 

Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman 
Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; 
From air he takes his colours — holds his life, — 
Changes with every wind, — grows lean or fat, 
Bosy with hope, or green with jealousy, 



[SCENE 1. OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 165 

Or pallid with despair — just as the gale 

Varies from north to south — from heat to cold ! 

Oh, woman ! woman ! thou shouldst have few siDS 

Of thine own to answer for ! Thou art the author 

Of such a book of follies in a man, 

That it would need the tears ol all the angels 

To blot the record out ! 

Enter Melnotte, pale and agitated. 

I need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard — 

Mel. The worst ! 

I have ! 

Damas. Be cheer'd ; others are fair as she is ! 

Mel. Others ! — The world is crumbled at my feet ! 
She was my world ; fill'd up the whole of being — 
Smiled in the sunshine — walk'd the glorious earth — 
Sate in my heart — was the sweet life of life. 
The Past was hers ; I dreamt not of a Future 
That did not wear her shape ! Mem'ry and Hope 
Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless ! Henceforth 
The universal space is desolate ! 

Damas. Hope yet. 

Jfel. Hope, yes ! — one hope is left me still — 

A soldier's grave ! Glory has died with love. 
I look into my heart, and, where I saw 
Pauline, see Death ! 

[After a pause]. — But am I not deceived ? 
I went but by the rumour of the town ; 
Rumour is false, — I was too hasty ! Damas, 
Whom hast thou seen 1 

Damas. Thy rival and her father. 

Arm thyself for the truth. — He heeds not — 






166 THE LADY OP LYONS ; [ACT V. 

Mel. She 

"Will never know how deeply she was loved ! 
The charitable night, that wont to bring 
Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, 
Is henceforth leagued with misery ! Sleep, farewell, 
Or else become eternal ! Oh, the waking 
From false oblivion, and to see the sun, 
And know she is another's ! 

Damas. Be a man ! 

Mel. I am a man ! — it is the sting of woe 
Like mine that tells us we are men ! 

Damas. The false one 

Did not deserve thee. 

Mel Hush ! — No word against her ! 

Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, 
The holy tablets of her virgin faith 
True to a traitor's name ! Oh, blame her not ; 
It were a sharper grief to think her worthless 
Than to be what I am ! To-day, — to-day ! 
They said "To-day ! " This day, so wildly welcomed — 
This day, my soul had singled out of time 
And mark'd for bliss ! This day ! oh, could I see her, 
See her once more unknown ; but hear her voice. 
So that one echo of its music might 
Make ruin less appalling in its silence. 

Damas. Easily done ! Come with me to her house ; 
Your dress — your cloak — moustache — the bronzed hues 
Of time and toil — the name you bear — belief 
In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. 
Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come. 
There may be hope ! Pauline is yet so young, 
They may have forced her to these second bridals 



SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 167 

Out of mistaken love. 

Mel. No, bid me hope not ! 

Bid me not hope ! I could not bear again 
To fall from such a heaven ! One gleam of sunshine, 
And the ice breaks and I am lost ! Oh, Damas, 
There's no such thing as courage in a man ; 
The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger 
Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, 
I bore it, did I not % I still had hope, 
And now I — I [Bursts into an agony of grief. 

Damas. "What, comrade ! all the women 

That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts 
Were not worth tears like these ! 

Mel. 'Tis past — forget it. 

I am prepared ; life has no further ills ! 
The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, 
And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. 

Damas. His very face is changed ; a breaking heart 
Does its work soon ! — Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself : 
One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. 

Mel. See her ! 

There is a passion in that simple sentence 
That shivers all the pride and power oi reason 
Into a chaos ! 

Damas. Time wanes ; — come, ere yet 

It be too late. 

Mel. Terrible words—" Too late J " 
Lead on. One last look more, and then 

Damas. Forget her ! 

Mel. Forget her ! yes. — For death remembers not. 

[Exeunt. 



16S THE LADY OF LYONS j [ACT V. 



SCENE II. 

A room in the house of Monsieur Deschappelles; Pauline 
seated in great dejection. 

Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, 
Or sacrifice a father ! Oh, my Claude, 
My lover, and my husband ! Have I lived 
To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon 
Than the deep faith of this devoted heart, — 
Nourish' d till now — now broken 1 

Enter Monsieur Deschappelles. 

M. Deschap. My dear child, 

How shall I thank — how bless thee 1 Thou hast saved, 
I will not say my fortune — I could bear 
"Reverse, and shrink not — but that prouder wealth 
Which merchants value most — my name, my credit — 
The hard- won honours of a toilsome life : — 
These thou hast saved, my child ! 

Pauline. Is there no hope ? 

No hope but this 1 

M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum 

"Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day 
Sinks to the west — to-morrow brings our ruin ! 
And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse 
The bankrupt merchant ! and the insolvent herd 
We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, 
" How pride has fallen ! — Lo, the bankrupt merchant ! n 
My daughter, thou hast saved us ! 



SCENE II. J OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 169 

Pauline. And am lost ! 

31. Descliap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love — 

Pauline. His love ! 

Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self ! 
Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold 
The loathsome prostitution of a hand 
Without a heart 1 Love sacrifices all thing3 
To bless the thing it loves ! He knows not love. 
Father, his love is hate — his hope revenge ! 
My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood — 
These are the joys that he wrings from our despair ! 

M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him ! Shame 
and ruin 
Were better than thy misery ; — think no more out. 
My sand is wellnigh run — what boots it when 
The glass is broken ? We'll annul the contract : 
And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell 
These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, 
I'll think thou art spared ; and wait the Liberal Hour 
That lays the beggar by the -side of kings ! 

Pauline. No — no— forgive me ! You, my honour'd 
father, — 
You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips 
Never knew one harsh word ! I'm not ungrateful ; 
I am but human ! — hush ! Now, call the bridegroom— 
You see I am prepared — no tears — all calm ; 
But, father, talk no more of love I 

M. Deschap. „ My child, 

'Tisbut one struggle ; he is young, rich, noble ; 
Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons ; 
And when this heart can shelter thee no more, 
Thy youth will not be guardianless. 



170 THE LADY OF LYONS j [ACT V. 

Pauline. I have set 

My foot upon the ploughshare — I will pass 
The fiery ordeal. [-4sicfo.] Merciful Heaven, support me ! 
And on the absent wanderer shed the light 
Of happier stars — lost evermore to me 1 

Enter Madame Deschappelles, Beauseant, Glavis, 
and Notary. 

Mine. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille 
— you ought to be more alive to the importance of this 
joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it is true ; 
but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant's father was a 
Marquis, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and join- 
ture ! — you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A 
young lady decorously brought up should only have two 
considerations in her choice of a husband : first, is his 
birth honourable? secondly, will his death be advan- 
tageous? All other trifling details should be left to pa- 
rental anxiety. 

Beau, [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, 
Pauline ! let me hope that you are reconciled to an event 
which confers such rapture upon me. 

Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. 

Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. 

Pauline [aside]. This man must have some mercy — his 
heart cannot be marble, [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just — be 
generous ! Seize a noble triumph — a great revenge ! Save 
the father, and spare the child. 

Beau, [aside]. Joy — joy alike to my hatred and my 
passion ! The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. 
[Aloud.] You ask from me what I have not the sublime 
virtue to grant — a virtue reserved only for the gardener's 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 171 

son ! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their 
fulfilment ! I adhere to the contract — your father's ruin 
or your hand. 

Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. 

[The clock strikes one. 

Enter Damas and Melnotte. 

Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me 
introduce Colonel Morier. 

Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. "What, the cele- 
brated hero 1 This is, indeed, an honour ! 

[Melnotte tows, and remains in ike background. 

Damas [to Paidine\. My little cousin, I congratulate 
you. What, no smile — no blush ? You are going to be 
divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentle- 
man. You ought to be excessively happy ! 

Pauline. Happy ! 

Damas. Why, how pale you are, child ! — Poor Pauline ! 
Hist — confide in mb : Do they force you to this 1 

Pauline. No ! 

Damas. You act with your own free consent 1 

Pauline. My own consent — yes. 

Damas. Then you are the most — I will not say what 
you are. 

Pauline. You think ill of me — be it so — yet if you 
knew all 

Damas. There is some mystery — speak out, Pauline. 

Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you can save me ! 
you are our relation — our friend. My father is on the 
verge of bankruptcy — this day he requires a large sum to 
meet demands that cannot be denied ; that sum Beauseant 
will advance — this hand the condition of the barter. Save 



172 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT V* 

me if you have the means — save me ! You will be repaid 
above ! 

Damas [aside]. I recant — "Women are not so bad after 
all ! [Aloud.] Humph, child ! I cannot help you — I am 
too poor. 

Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. 

Damas. Hold — you see my friend Morier : Melnotte is 
his most intimate friend — fought in the same fields — slept 
in the same tent. Have you any message to send to 
Melnotte 1 any word to soften this blow ? 

Pauline. He knows Melnotte — he will see him — he 
will bear to him my last farewell — [approacJies Melnotte] 
— He has a stern air — he turns away from me — he despises 
me ! — Sir, one word I beseech you. 

Mel. Her voice again ! How the old time comes o'er me! 

Damas [to Madame]. Don't interrupt them. He is 
going to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is'; he 
knows him well, I promise you. 

Mme. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas ! 

[Damas approaches Deschappelles ; converses apart with 
him in dumb show — Deschappelles shows him a paper, 
which he inspects and takes. 

, Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak ; my courage 
fails me. — 
Sir, is it true that you have known — nay, are 
The friend of— Melnotte % ' 

Mel. Lady, yes ! — Myself 

And misery know the man ! 

Pauline. And you will see him, 

And you will bear to him — ay — word for word, 
All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, 
Would send, ere still for ever % 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 173 

Mel. He hatli told me 

You have the right to choose from out the world 
A worthier bridegroom ; — he foregoes all claim, 
Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on ! 

Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought 
That was not his ; — that on his wandering way, 
Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. 
Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share 
His lowliest lot, — walk by his side, an outcast, — 
Work for him, beg with him. — live upon the light 
Of one kind smile from him, — than wear the crown 
The Bourbon lost ! 

Mel. [aside]. Am I already mad 1 

And does delirium utter such sweet words 
Into a dreamer's ear 1 [Aloud]. You love him thus, 
And yet desert him 1 

Pauline. Say, that, if his eye 

Could read this heart, — its struggles, its temptations, — 
His love itself would pardon that desertion ! 
Look on that poor old man, — he is my father ; 
He stands upon the verge of an abyss ! — 
He calls his child to save him ! Shall I shrink 
From him who gave me birth % — withhold my hand, 
And see a parent perish 1 Tell him this, 
And say — that we shall meet again in Heaven ! 

Mel. Lady — I — I — what is this riddle 1 — what 
The nature of this sacrifice 1 

Pauline pointing to Da^ias]. Go, ask him ! 

Beau, [from tlie table]. The papers are prepared — we 
only need 
Your hand and seal. 

Mel. Stay, lady — one word more. 



174 THE LADY OF LYONS \ [ACT V. 

Were but your duty with your faith united, 
Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot % 

Pauline. Would I ? Ah, better death with him I love 
Than all the pomp — which is but as the flowers 
That crown the victim ! — [Turning away.] I am ready. 

[Melnotte ruslies to Damas. 

Damas. There — 

This is the schedule — this the total. 

Beau, [to Deschappelles, showing notes]. These 
Are yours the instant she has sign'd ; you are 
Still the great House of Lyons ! 

[Tlie Notary is about to hand the contract to Pauline, ivhen 
Melnotte seizes it and tears it. 

Beau. Are you mad ? 

M. Deschap. How, sir ! What means this insult 1 
Mel. Peace, old man ! 

I have a prior claim. Before the face 
Of man and Heaven I urge it ; I outbid 
Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. 

[Giving a pocket-book. 
There is the sum twice told ! Blush not to take it : 
There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd 
In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood ! 
Beau. Torments and death ! 

Pauline. That voice ! Thou art — 

Mel Thy husband ! 

[Pauline rushes into his arms. 
Look up ! Look up, Pauline ! — for I can bear 
Thine eyes ! The stain is blotted from my name. 
I have redeem'd mine honour. I can call 
On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness ! 



SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 175 

Ob, joy ! — Ob, rapture ! By the midnight watchfires 
Thus have I seen thee ! thus foretold this hour ! 
And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard 
The beating of thy heart against my own ! 

Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour 
Of mine own victory ! Curses on ye both ! 
May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed ! 
And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate — 
Such as the hate that gnaws me ! 

Damas. Curse away ! 

And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb 
The Arabs have, — " Curses are like young chickens, 
[Solemnly.] And still come home to roost ! " 

Beau. Their happiness 

Maddens my soul ! I am powerless and revengeless ! 

[To Madame. 
I wish you joy ! Ha ! ha ! the gardener's son ! [Exit. 

Damas [to Glavis]. Your friend intends to hang 
hiinself ! Methinks 
You ought to be his travelling companion ! 

Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging ! [Exit. 

Pauline. Oh ! 

My father, you are saved, — and by my husband ! 
Ah, blessed hour ? 

Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline ! 

Pauline. But on thy breast ! — these tears are sweet 
and holy ! 

M. Deschap. You have won love and honour nobly, 
sir ! 
Take her ; — be happy both ! 

Mme. Deschap. I'm all astonish'd ! 

Who, then, is Colonel Morier % 



176 THE LADY OF LYONS. [ACT V. SC. IL 

Daman. You behold him ! 

Mel. Morier no more after this happy day ! 
I would not bear again my father's name 
Till I could deem it spotless ! The hour's come ! 
Heaven smiled on conscience ! As the soldier rose 
From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame 
That canoell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee ! 

lime. Descliap. A colonel and a hero ! "Well, that's 
something ! 
He's wondrously improved ! I wish you joy, sir ! 

Mel. Ah ! the same love that tempts us into sin, 
If it be true love, works out its redemption ; 
And he who seeks repentance for the Past 
Should woo the Angel Virtue in the future. 



EICHELIEU; 



THE CONSPIRACY. 



" Le Comte de Soissons, et le Due de Bouillon, avaient une bonne 
armee, et ils savaient la conduire ; et pour plus grande surety 
tandis que cette armde devait s'avancer, on devait assassiner le 
Cardinal et faire soulever Paris. . . Les Conjure's faisaient un 
traite" avec l'Espagne pour introduire des troupes en France, et pour 
y mettre tout en confusion dans une Regence qu'on croyait pro- 
chaine, et dont chacun espe'rait profiter. . . Richelieu avait 
perdu toute sa faveur, et ne conservait que l'avantage d'etre 
ne'eessaire. Le bonheur du Cardinal vculut encore que le complot 
fut de'eouvert, et qu'une copie du traite" lui tombat entre les mains." 
— Volt aire, Mist. Gen. 



PEEFACE, 



The administration of Cardinal Richelieu, whom (despite all his 
darker qualities) Voltaire and history justly consider the true archi- 
tect of the French monarchy, and the great parent of French civil- 
ization, is characterised by features alike tragic and comic. A weak 
king — an ambitious favourite ; a despicable conspiracy against the 
minister, nearly always associated with a dangerous treason against 
the State — these, with little variety of names and dates, constitute 
the eventful cycle through which, with a dazzling ease, and an arro- 
gant confidence, the great luminary fulfilled its destinies. Blent 
together, in startling contrast, we see the grandest achievements 
and the pettiest agents ; — the spy — the mistress — the capuchin ; — 
the destruction of feudalism ; — the humiliation of Austria ; — the 
dismemberment of Spain. 

Richelieu himself is still what he was in his own day — a man of 
two characters. If, on the one hand, he is justly represented as 
inflexible and vindictive, crafty and unscrupulous ; so, on the other, 
it cannot be denied that he was placed in times in which the long 
impunity of every license required stern examples — that he was 
beset by perils and intrigues, which gave a certain excuse to the 
subtlest inventions of self-defence — that his ambition was insepar- 
ably connected with a passionate love for the glory of his country — 
and that, if he was her dictator, he was not less her benefactor. It 
has been fairly remarked, by the most impartial historians, that he 
was no less generous to merit than severe to crime — that, in the vari- 
ous departments of the State, the Army, and the Church, he selected 
and distinguished the ablest aspirants — that the wars which he con- 
N 2 



180 PREFACE. 

ducted were, &>»• the most part, essential to the preservation of 
France, and Europe itself, from the formidable encroachments of 
the Austrian House — that, in spite of those wars, the people were 
not oppressed with exorbitant imposts — and that he left the king- 
dom he had governed in a more flourishing and vigorous state than 
at any former period of the French history, or at the decease of 
Louis XIV. 

The cabals formed against this great statesman were not carried on 
by the patriotism of public virtue, or the emulation of equal talent : 
they were but court struggles, in which the most worthless agents 
had recourse to the most desperate means. In each, as I have 
before observed, we see combined the twofold attempt to murder the 
minister and to betray the country. Such, then, are the agents, 
and such the designs with which truth, in the drama as in history, 
requires us to contrast the celebrated Cardinal ; — not disguising his 
foibles or his vices, but not unjust to the grander qualities (espe- 
cially the love of country), by which they were often dignified, 
and, at times, redeemed. 

The historical drama is the concentration of historical events. 
In the attempt to place upon the stage the picture of an era, that 
license with dates and details, which Poetry permits, and which the 
highest authorities in the Drama of France herself have sanctioned, 
has been, though not unsparingly, indulged. The conspiracy of the 
Due de Bouillon is, for instance, amalgamated with the denouement 
oiThe Day of Dupes ; * and circumstances connected with the treason 
of Cinq Mars (whose brilliant youth and gloomy catastrophe tend to 
subvert poetic and historic justice, by seducing us to forget his 
base ingratitude and his perfidious apostasy) are identified with 
the fate of the earlier favourite Baradas, f whose sudden rise and 



* " Le Cardinal se croit perdu, et prepare sa retraite. Ses amis 
lui conseillent de tenter enfin aupres du Boi un nouvel effort. Le 
Cardinal va trouver le Boi a Versailles. Le Boi, qui avait sacrine 
son ministre par faiblesse, se remit par faiblesse entre ses mains, et 
il lui abandonne ceux qui l'avaient perdu. Ce jour qui est encore 
a present appelld La Journee des Dupes, fut celui du pouvoir absolu 
du Cardinal." — Voltaire, Hist. Gen. 

+ " En six mois il (le Boi) fit (Baradas) premier Ecuyer, premier 
Gentilhomme ds la Chambre, Capitaine de St. Germain, et Lieutenant 



PREFACE. 1S1 

as sudden fall passed into a proverb. I ought to add, that the 
noble romance of " Cinq Mart* " suggested one of the scenes in 
the fifth act ; and that for the conception of some portion of the 
intrigue connected with De Mauprat and Julie, I am, with great 
alterations of incident, and considerable if not entire recon- 
struction of character, indebted to an early and aumirable novel by 
the author of " Picciola." * 

London, March 1839. 



de Eoi, en Champagne. En moins de temps encore, on lui dta tout, 
et des debris de sa grandeur, k peine lui resta-t-il de quoi payer ses 
dettes : de sorte que pour signifier une grande fortune dissipee 
aussi qu'acquise on disait en commun proverbe, Fortune de JBaradas." 
— Anquetil. 

* It may be as well, however, to caution the English* reader 
against some of the impressions which the eloquence of both the 
writers I refer to are calculated to leave. They have exaggerated 
the more evil, and have kept out of sight the nobler qualities of the 
Cardinal. 



The length of the play necessarily requires curtailments on the 
stage — the principal of which are enclosed within brackets. Many 
of the passages thus omitted, however immaterial to the audience, 
must obviously be such as the reader would be least inclined to dis- 
pense with — viz., those which, without being absolutely essential to 
the business of the stage, contain either the subtler strokes of charac- 
ter, or the more poetical embellishments of description. An im- 
portant consequence of these suppressions is, that Richelieu himself 
is left, too often and too unrelievedly, to positions which place him 
in an amiable light, without that shadowing forth of his more 
sinister motives and his fiercer qualities, which is attempted in the 
written play. Thus, the character takes a degree of credit due 
only to the situation. To judge the author's conception of Eichelieu 
fairly, and to estimate how far it is consistent with historical por- 
traiture, the play must be read. 



TO 

THE MAKQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, K.G., 

&c, &c, 
THIS DRAMA 

IS INSCRIBED, 

IN TRIBUTE TO THE TALENTS WHICH COMMAND, AND TH« 
QUALITIES WHICH ENDEAE, EESPECT. ' 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Louis the Thirteenth. 

Gaston, Duke of Orleans, brother to Louis XIII. 

Baradas, favourite of the King, First Gentleman of. tlte 

C/uimber, Premier Ecuyer, &c. 
Cardinal Richelieu. 
The Chevalier de Mauprat. 
The Sieur de Beringhen, in attendance on the King* 

one of the Conspirators. 
Joseph, a Capuchin, Richelieu's confidant. 
Huguet, an officer of RicJielieus Ivousehold guard — a 

Spy. 
Franqois, First Page to Riclielieu. 
First Courtier. 
Captain of the Archers. 
First, Second, Third Secretaries of State. 
Governor of the Bastile. 
Gaoler. 

Courtiers, Pages, Conspirators, Officers, Soldiers, &c. 

Julie de Mortem ar, an Orplmn, ward to Richelieu,. 
Marian de Lorme, Mistress to Orleans, but in Richelieu's 
pay. 



* Properly speaking,, the King's First Valet de Chainbre — a posi 
of great importance at that time. 



EICHELIEIT; 

OR, 

THE CONSPIRACY, 



ACT I. 

FIRST DAY 

SCENE I. — A room in the house of Marion de Lorme ; a table 
toicards the front of the stage {xoith wine, fruits, c&c), at which are 
seated Baradas, Four Courtiers, splendidly dressed in the costume 
of 1641-2 ; — the Duke of Orleans reclining on a large fauteuil ; — 
Marion de Lorme standing at the bach of his chair, offers him a goblet, 
and then retires. At another table, De Beringhen, De Mauprat, 
playing at dice ; otlier Courtiers, of inferior rank to those at the table 
of the Duke, looking on. 

Orle. [drinking]. Here's to our enterprise ! 

Bar. [glancing at Marion]. Hush, sir ! 

Orle. [aside], Nay, Count, 

You may trust her ; she doats on ine ; no house 
So safe as Marion's. *[At our statelier homes 
The very walls do play the eaves-dropper. 
There's not a sunbeam creeping o'er our floors 
But seems a glance from that malignant eye 

* The passages enclosed in brackets are omitted in represen- 
tation. 



136 RICHELIEU ; [act I. 

Which reigns o'er France ; our fatal greatness lives 
In the sharp glare of one relentless day. 
But Richelieu's self forgets to fear the sword 
The myrtle hides ; and Marion's silken robe 
Casts its kind charity o'er fiercer sins 
Than those which haunt the rosy path between 
The lip and eye of beauty. — Oh, no house 
So safe as Marion's.] 

Bar. Still, we have a secret. 

And oil and water — woman and a secret — 
Are hostile properties. 

Orle. "Well — Marion, see 

How the play prospers yonder. 

[Marion goes to the next table, loolcs on for a few moments 
then exit. 

Bar. [producing a parchment]. I have now 
All the conditions drawn j it only needs 
Our signatures : upon receipt of this, 
(Whereto is join'd the schedule of our treaty 
With the Count-Duke," the Richelieu of the Escurial,) 
Bouillon will join his army with the Spaniard, 
March on to Paris, — there, dethrone the King : 
You will be Regent ; I, and ye, my Lords, 
Form the new Council. So much for the core 
Of our great scheme. 

Orle. But Richelieu is an Argus ; 

One of his hundred eyes will light upon us, 
And then — good-bye to life. 

Bar. To gain the prize 

We must destroy the Argus : — ay, my Lords, 

* Olivares, Minister of Spain. 



SCENE L J OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 187 

The scroll the core, but blood must fill the veins, 
Of our design ; — while this despatch'd to BouilloD, 
Richelieu despatch'd to heaven ! — The last my charge. 
Meet here to-morrow night. You, sir, as first 
In honour and in hope, meanwhile select 
Some trusty knave to bear the scroll to Bouillon ; 
Midst Richelieu's foes Til find some desperate hand 
To strike for vengeance, while we stride to power. 

Orle. So be it ; — to-morrow, midnight. Come, my 
Lords. 

[Exeunt Oeleans, and the Courtiers in his train. Those at 
the other table rise, salute Oeleans, and reseat themselves. 

Be Ber. Double the stakes. 

Be Mau. Done. 

Be Ber. Bravo ; faith, it shames me 

To bleed a purse already in extremis. 

Be Mau. Nay, as you've had the patient to yourself 
So long, no other doctor should despatch it. 

[De Mauprat throws and loses. 

Omnes. Lost ! Ha, ha ! — poor De Mauprat ! 

Be Ber. One throw more 1 

Be Mau. No ; I am bankrupt [pushing gold]. There 
goes all — except 
My honour and my sword. [They rise. 

Be Ber. Long cloaks and honour 

Went out of vogue together, when we found 
We got on much more rapidly without them ; 
The sword, indeed, is never out of fashion, — 
The devil has care of that. 

First Gamester. Ay, take the sword 

To Cardinal Richelieu : — he gives gold for steel, 
When worn by brave men. 



1S8 xviuxxrILIEU ; [act I. 

Be Mau. Richelieu ! 

Be Ber. [to Baradas]. At that name 

He changes colour, bites his nether lip. 
Ev'n in his brightest moments whisper " Richelieu," 
And you cloud all his sunshine. 

Bar. I have mark'd it, 

And I will learn the wherefore. 

De Mau. The Egyptian 

Dissolved her richest jewel in a draught : 
Would I could so melt time and all its treasures, 
And drain it thus. [Drinking. 

Be Ber. Come, gentlemen, what say ye, 

A walk on the parade 1 

Omnes. Ay ; come, De Mauprat. 

Be Mau. Pardon me ; we shall meet again ere nightfall. 

Bar. I'll stay and comfort Mauprat. . 

Be Ber. Comfort ! — when 

We gallant fellows have run out a friend, 
There's nothing left — except to run him through ! 
There's the last act of friendship. 

Be Mau. Let me keep 

That favour in reserve ; in all beside 
Your most obedient servant. 

[Exeunt De Beringhen, &c. Manent De Mauprat 
and Baradas. 

Bar. You have lost — 

You are not sad. 

Be Mau. Sad ! — Life and gold have wings, 

And must fly one day : — open, then, their cages 
And wish them merry. 

Bar. You're a strange enigma :— 

Fiery in war — and yet to glory hike warm ; 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 189 

All mirth in action— in repose all gloom — 

These are extremes in which the unconscious heart 

Betrays the fever of deep-fix'd disease. 

Confide in me ! our young days roll'd together 

In the same river, glassing the same stars 

That smile i' the heaven of hope ; — alike we made 

Bright-winged steeds of our unform'd chimeras, 

Spurring the fancies upward to the air, 

Wherein we shaped fair castles from the cloud. 

Fortune of late has sever'd us — and led 

Me to the rank of Courtier, Count and Favourite, — 

You to the titles of the wildest gallant 

And bravest knight in France ; — are you content ? 

No ; — trust in me — some gloomy secret 

De Mau. Ay : — 

A secret that doth haunt me, as, of old, 
Men were possess'd of fiends ! — Where'er I turn, 
The grave yawns dark before me ! — I will trust you ;— 
Hating the Cardinal, and beguiled by Orleans, 
You know I join'd the Languedoc revolt — 
Was captured — sent to the Bastile 

Bar. But shared 

The general pardon, which the Duke of Orleans 
Won for himself and all in the revolt, 
Who but obey'd his orders. 

De Mau. Note the phrase ; — 

" Obey'd his orders." Well, when on my way 
To join the duke in Languedoc, I (then 
The down upon my lip — less man than boy) 
Leading young valours — reckless as myself, 
Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced 
The royal banners for the rebel. Orkans 



190 richelieu; [act I. 

(Never too daring,) when I reach'd the camp, 
Blamed me for acting — mark — without his orders : 
Upon this quibble Richelieu razed my name 
Out of the general pardon. 

Bar. Yet released you 

From the Bastile 

Be Mau. To call me to his presence, 

And thus address me : — " You have seized a town 
Of France, without the orders of your leader, 
And for this treason, but one sentence — Death." 

Bar. Death! 

Be Mau. " I have pity on your youth and birth, 
Nor wish to glut the headsman ; — -join your troop, 
Now on the march against the Spaniards ; — change 
The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave ; — 
Your memory stainless — they who shared your 

crime 
Exiled or dead — your king shall never learn it." 

Bar. O tender pity ! — most charming prospect ! 
Blown into atoms by a bomb, or drill'd 
Into a cullender by gunshot ! — "Well 1 — 

Be Mau. You have heard if I fought bravely. — Death 
became 
Desired as Daphne by the eager Daygod. 
Like him I chased the nymph — to grasp the laurel ! 
I could not die ! 

Bar. Poor fellow ! 

Be Mau. When the Cardinal 

Review'd the troops — his eye met mine ; — he frown'd, 
Summon'd me forth — " How's this ! " quoth he ; " you 

have shunn'd 
The sword— beware the axe ! — 'twill fall one day ! " 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 191 

He left me thus — we were recall'd to Paris, 
And — you know all ! 

Bar. And, knowing this, why halt you, 

Spell'd by the rattle-snake, — while in the breasts 
Of your firm friends beat hearts, that vow the death 
Of your grim tyrant 1 — Wake ! — Be one of us ; 
The time invites — the king detests the Cardinal, 
Dares not disgrace — but groans to be delivered 
Of that too great a subject — join your friends, 
Free France, and save yourself. 

Be Mam. Hush ! Richelieu bears 

A charmed life ; — to all, who have braved his power, 
One common end — the block. 

Bar. Nay, if he live, 

The block your doom ; — 

Be Mem. Better the victim, Count, 

Than the assassin. — France requires a Richelieu, 
But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this ; — 
All time one midnight, where my thoughts are 

spectres. 
What to my fame 1— What love ?— 

Bar. Yet Host thou love not ? 

De Man. Love % — I am young 

Bo/r. And Julie fair ! [.isicfe.] It is so, 

Upon the margin of the grave — his hand 
Would pluck the rose that I would win and wear ! 
[Aloud]— [Thou lov'st— 

Be Mau. Who, lonely in the midnight tent, 

Gazed on the watch-fires in the sleepless air, 
Nor chose one star amidst the clustering hosts 
To bless it in the name of some fair face 
Set in his spirit, as that star in Heaven 1 



192 RICHELIEU ; [act l 

For our divine affections, like the spheres, 
Move ever, ever musical. 

Bar. You speak 

As one who fed on poetry. 

De Mau. Why, man, 

The thoughts of lovers stir with poetry 
As leaves with summer-wind. — The heart that loves 
Dwells in an Eden, hearing angeWutes, 
As Eve in the First Garden. Hast thou seen 
My Julie, and not felt it henceforth dull 
To live in the common world — and talk in words 
That clothe the feelings of the frigid herd ? — 
Upon the perfumed pillow of her lips — 
As on his native bed of roses flushed 
With Paphian skies — Love smiling sleeps : — Her voic8 
The blest interpreter of thoughts as pure 
As virgin wells where Dian takes delight, 
Or fairies dip their changelings ! — In the maze 
Of her harmonious beauties — Modesty 
(Like some severer grace that leads the choir 
Of her sweet sisters) every airy motion 
Attunes to such chaste charm, that Passion holds 
His burning breath, and will not with a sigh 
Dissolve the spell that binds him ! — Oh those eyes 
That woo the earth — shadowing more soul than lurks 
Under the lids of Psyche ! — Go ! — thy lip 
Curls at the purfled phrases of a lover — 
Love thou, and if thy love be deep as mine, 
Thou wilt not laugh at poets. 

Bar. [aside]. With each word 

Thou wak'st a jealous demon in my heart, 
And my hand clutches at my hilt. — ] 



SCENE 1.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 193 

Be Mau. [gaily]. No more ! — 

I love ! — Your breast holds both my secrets ! — Never 
Unbury either ! — Come, while yet we may, 
We'll bask us in the noon of rosy life : — 
Lounge through the gardens, — flaunt it in the taverns, — 
Laugh, — game, — drink, — feast: — If so confined my 

days, 
Faith, I'll enclose the nights. — Pshaw ! not so grave ; 
I'm a true Frenchman ! — Vive la bagatelle ! 

[As they ewe going out, enter Huguet and four Arquebusierto 

Hug. Messire De Mauprat, — I arrest you ! — Follow 
To the Lord Cardinal. 

Be Man. You see, my friend, 

I'm out of my suspense ! — the tiger's play'd 
Long enough with his prey. — Farewell ! — Hereafter 
Say, when men name me, " Adrien de Mauprat 
Lived without hope, and perish'd without fear ! " 

[Exeunt De Mauprat, Huguet, <£& 

Bar. Farewell ! — I trust for ever ! I design'd thee 

For Richelieu's murderer but, as well his martyr 1 

In childhood you the stronger — and I cursed you ; 
In youth the fairer — and I cursed you still ; 
And now my rival ! — "While the name of Julie 
Hung on thy lips — I smiled — for then I saw, 
In my mind's eye, the cold and grinning Death 
Hang o'er thy head the pall ! — Ambition, Love, 
Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies, 
Sit in my house of Life ! — By the king's aid 
I will be Julie's husband — in despite 
Of my Lord Cardinal ! — by the king's aid 
I will be minister of France — in spite 
o 



101 RICHELIEU ; [ACT I. 

Of ni)' Lord Cardinal ! — And then— what then 1 
The king loves Julie — feeble prince — false master — 

[Producing and gazing on the parchment. 
Then, by the aid of Bouillon, and the Spaniard, 
I will dethrone the king ; and all — ha ! — ha ! — 
All, in despite of my Lord Cardinal ! [Exit. 



SCENE II. 

A room in the Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras. A 
large screen in one corner. A table covered with books, papers, &c. 
A rude clock in a recess. Busts, statues, book-cases, weapons of 
difei'ent periods and banners suspended ova' Richelieu's chair. 

Richelieu and Joseph. 

Rich. And so you think this new conspiracy 

The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox 1 

Fox !— Well, I like the nickname ! What did Plutarch 
Say of the Greek Lysander 1 

Joseph. I forget. 

Rich. That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it 
Out with the fox's ! A great statesman, Joseph, 
That same Lysander ! 

Joseph. Orleans heads the traitors. 

Rich. A very wooden head, then ! Well % 

Joseph. The favourite, 

Count Baradas — 

Rich. A weed of hasty growth ; 

First gentleman of the chamber — titles, lands, 
And the king's ear ! — It cost me six long winters 
To mount as high, as in six little moons 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 195 

This painted lizard But I hold the ladder, 

And when I shake — he falls ! What more ? 

Joseph, A scheme 

To make your orphan-ward an instrument 
To aid your foes You placed her with the queen, 
One of the royal chamber, — as a watch 
I* th' enemy's quarters — 

Rich. And the silly child 

Visits me daily, — calls me " Father," — prays 
Kind Heaven to bless me — And for all the rest 
As well have placed a doll about the queen ! 
She does not heed who frowns — who smiles ; with whom 
The king confers in whispers ; notes not when 
Men who last week were foes, are found in corners 
Mysteriously affectionate ; words spoken 
Within closed doors she never hears ;- — by chance 
Taking the air at keyholes — Senseless puppet ! 
No ears — nor eyes ! — and yet she says, " She loves me ! " 
Go on 

Joseph. Your ward has charm'd the king 

Rich. Out on you ! 

Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots 
Pluck'd the insidious ivy of his love 1 
And shall it creep around my blossoming tree 
Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music 
That spirits in Heaven might hear 1 They're sinful, too, 
Those passionate surfeits of the rampant flesh, 
The church condemns them ; and to us, my Joseph, 
The props and pillars of the church, most hurtful. 
The king is weak — whoever the king loves 
Must rule the king ; the lady loves another, 
The other rules the lady — thus we're balk'd 
o 2 



196 RICHELIEU; [act I. 

Of our own proper sway — The king must have 

No goddess but the State : — the State — that's Richelieu ! 

Joseph. This not the worst ; — Louis, in all decorous, 
And deeming you her least compliant guardian, 
Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion, 
Your prosperous foe, Count Baradas ! 

Rich. Ha! ha! 

I have another bride for Baradas. 

Joseph. You, my lord 1 

Rich. Ay — more faithful than the love 

Of fickle woman : — when the head lies lowliest, 
Clasping him fondest ; — Sorrow never knew 
So sure a soother, — and her bed is stainless ! 

Joseph [aside] . If of the grave he speaks, I do not wonder 
That priests are bachelors ! 

Enter Francois. 

Fran. Mademoiselle de Mortem ar. 

Rich. Most opportune — admit her. [Exit Francois. 

In my closet 
You'll find a rosary, Joseph ; ere you tell 
Three hundred beads, I'll summon you. Stay, Joseph ; — 
I did omit an Ave in my matins, — 
A grievous fault ; — atone it for me, Joseph ; 
There is a scourge within ; I am weak, you strong. 
It were but charity to take my sin 
On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful. 

Joseph. I ! guilty of such criminal presumption 
As to mistake myself for you — No, never ! 
Think it not ! [4 side.] Troth, a pleasant invitation ! 

[Eocit Joseph. 
Enter Julie de Mortemar. 

Rich. That's my sweet Julie ! — why, upon this face 



SCENE II.] Oil, THE CONSPIRACY. 197 

Blushes such daybreak, one might swear the morning 
Were come to visit Tithon. 

Julie [placing herself at his feet]. Are you gracious ?— 
May I say " Father ? " 

Rich. Now and ever ! 

Julie. Father ! 

A sweet word to an orphan. 

Rich. No ; not orphan 

While Richelieu lives ; thy father loved me well ; 
My friend, ere I had flatterers (now, I'm great, 
In other phrase, I'm friendless) — he died young 
In years, not service, and bequeath'd thee to me ; 
And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy 
Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping 1 — sighs? 
Art thou not happy at the court 1 

Julie. Not often. 

Rich, [aside]. Can she love Baradas 1 Ah ! at thy 
heart 
There's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale, 
All in a breath 1 Thou art admired — art young ; 
Does not his majesty commend thy beauty — 
Ask thee to sing to him 1 — and swear such sounds 
Had smooth'd the brows of Saul ? 

Julie. He's very tiresome, 

Our worthy king-. 

Rich. Fie ! kings are never tiresome, 

Save to their ministers. What courtly gallants 
Char mi ladies most 1 — De Sourdiac, Longueville, or 
The favourite Baradas 1 

Julie. A smileless man — 

I fear and shun him. 

Rich. Yet he courts thee ? 



198 RICHELIEU; [act I. 

Julie. Then 

He is more tiresome than his Majesty. 

Rich. Right, girl, shun Baradas. Yet of these flowers 
Of France, not one, in whose more honied breath 
Thy heart hears summer whisper 1 

Enter Huguet. 

Hug. The Chevalier 

De Mauprat waits below. 

Julie [starting up]. De Mauprat ! 

Rich. Hem ! 

He has been tiresome too ! — Anon. [Exit Huguet. 

Julie. What doth he ? — 

I mean — I — Does your Eminence — that is — 
Know you Messire de Mauprat 1 

Rich. Well ! — and you — 

Has he address'd you often 1 

Julie. Often ! — No — 

Nine times ; — nay, ten ; the last time, by the lattice 
Of the great staircase. [In a melancholy tone.] The Court 
sees him rarely. 

Rich. A bold and forward royster ! 

Julie. He ? nay, modest, 

Gentle, and sad, methinks. 

Rich. Wears gold and azure 1 

Julie. No ; sable. 

Rich. So yo'u note his colours, Julie % 

Shame on you, child ; look loftier. By the mass, 
I have business with this modest gentleman. 

Julie. You're angry with poor Julie. There's no cause. 

Rich. No cause — you hate my foes 1 

Julie. I do ! 

Rich. Hate Mauprat 1 



E II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 109 

Julie. Not Mauprat. No. not Adrieii, father. 

Rich. Aclrien ! 

Familiar ! — Go, child ; no, not that way ; v. 
In the tapestry chamber ; I will join you, — go. 

Julie. His brows are knit ; I dare not call him father ! 
But I must speak — Your Eminence 

Rich, [sternly]. Well, girl ! 

Julie. ^ & Yj 

Smile on me — one smile more ; there, now I'm happy. 
Do not rank Mauprat with your foes ; he is not, 
I know he is not ; he loves France too well. 

Mich. Not rank De Mauprat with my foes ? So be it. 
I'll blot him from that list. 

Julie. That's my own father. 

[Exit Julie, 

Rich, [ringing a small bell on tlie table]. Huguet ! 

Enter Huguet. 
De Mauprat struggled not, nor murmured ? 

Bug. No ; proud and passive. 

Rich. Bid him enter.— Hold : 

Look that he hide no weapon. Humph, despair 
Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has enter'd 
Glide round unseen ;— place thyself yonder [pointing to 

the screen] ; watch him ; 
If he show violence — (let me see thy carbine ; 
So, a good weapon ;) — if he play the lion, 
Why — the dog's death. 

Hug. I never miss my mark. 

[Exit Huguet ; Kichelteu seats himself ai the table, and 
slowly arranges the papers before him. Enter De Mau- 
prat, preceded by Huguet, who then retires behind the 
screen. 



200 RICHELIEU ; [act I. 

Mich. Approach, sir. — Can you call to mind the hour, 
Now three years since, when in this room, methinks, 
Your presence honour'd me % 

De Mau. It is, my Lord, 

■One of my most 

Rich. [drily]. Delightful recollections. * 

De Mau. [aside]. St. Denis ! doth he make a jest of 
axe 
And headsman? 

Rich. [sternly]. I did then accord you 
A mercy ill requited — you still live 1 

De Mau. To meet death face to face at last. 

[Rich. Your words 

Are bold. 

De Mau. My deeds have not belied them. 

Rich. Deeds ! 

O miserable delusion of man's pride ! 
Deeds ! cities sack'd, fields ravaged, hearths profaned, 
Men butcher'd ! In your hour of doom behold 
The deeds you boast of ! From rank showers of blood, 
And the red light of blazing roofs, you build 
The rainbow glory, and to shuddering conscience 
Cry, — Lo, the bridge to Heaven ! • 

De Mau. If war be sinful, 

Your hand the gauntlet cast. 

Rich. It was so, sir. 

Note the distinction : — I weigh'd well the cause 

* There are many anecdotes of the irony, often so terrible, in 
which Richelieu indulged. But he had a love for humour in its 
more hearty and genial shape. He would send for Boisrobert " to 
make him laugh," — and grave ministers and magnates waited in the 
ante-room, while the great cardinal listened and respon led to the 
sallies of the lively wit 



3CESE II,] Oil, THE CONSPIRACY. 201 

Which made the standard holy • raised the war 
But to secure the peace. France bled — I groan'd \ 
But look'd beyond ; and, in the vista, saw 
France saved, and I exulted. You — but you 
Were but the tool of slaughter — knowing nought, 
Foreseeing nought, nought hoping, nought lamenting, 
And for nought fit — save cutting throats for hire. 
Deeds, marry, deeds ! 

De Mau. If you would deign to speak 

Thus to your armies ere they march to battle, 
Perchance your Eminence might have the pain 
Of the throat-cutting to yourself. 

Rich. \aside\. He has wit, 

This Mauprat — [^4/omc?.] Let it pass ; there is against you 
What you can less excuse.] Messire de Mauprat, 
Doom'd to sure death, how hast thou since consumed 
The time allotted thee for serious thought 
And solemn penitence 1 

De Mau. [embarrassed]. The time, my lord 1 
Rich. Is not the question plain 1 I'll answer for thee. 
Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine ; no sackcloth 

chafed 
"Thy delicate flesh. The rosary and the death's-head 
Have not, with pious meditation, purged 
Earth from the carnal gaze. . What thou hast not done 
Brief told ; what done, a volume ! Wild debauch, 
Turbulent riot ; — for the morn the dice-box — 
Noon claim'd the duel — and the night the wassail ; 
These, your most holy, pure preparatives, 
For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, sir ? 

De Mau. I was not always thus : — if changed my nature, 
Blame that which changed my fate. — Alas, my lord, 



202 



RICHELIEU 



[There is a brotherhood which calm-eyed reason 

Can wot not of betwixt despair and mirth. 

My birth-place mid the vines of sunny Provence, 

Perchance the stream that sparkles in my veins 

Came from that wine of passionate life which, erst, 

Glow'd in the wild heart of the troubadour : 

And danger, which makes steadier courage wary, 

But fevers me with an insane delight ; 

As one of old who oivthe mountain crags 

Caught madness from a Maenad's haunting eyes. 

Were you, my lord, — whose path imperial power, 

And the grave cares of reverent wisdom, guard 

From all that tempts to folly meaner men, — ] 

Were you accursed with that which you inflicted — 

By bed and board, dogg'd by one ghastly spectre — 

The while within you youth beat high, and life 

Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death— 

The heart no bud, nor fruit — save in those seeds 

Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and wither 

In the same hour — Were this your fate, perchance, 

You would have err'd like me ! 

Rich. I might, like you, 

Have been a brawler and a reveller ; — not, 
Like you, a trickster and a thief. — 

De Mau. [advancing threateningly]. Lord Cardinal ! 
Unsay those words ! — 

[Huguet deliberately raises the carbine. 

Rich, [waving his liand\. Not quite so quick, friend 
Huguet ; 
Messire de Mauprat is a patient man, 
And he can wait ! — 

You have outrun your fortune ; — 



SCENE II.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 203 

I blame you not, that you would be a beggar — 

Each to his taste ! — But I do charge you, sir, 

That, being beggar'd, you would coin false moneys 

Out of that crucible, called debt. — To live 

On means not yours — be brave in silks and laces, 

Gallant in steeds — splendid in banquets ; — all 

Not yours — ungiven — uninherited — unpaid for ; — 

This is to be a trickster ; and to filch 

Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth, 

Life, daily bread, — quitting all scores with — " Friend, 

You're troublesome ! " — Why this, forgive me, 

Is what — when done with a less dainty grace — 

Plain folks call " Theft ! " You owe eight thousand! pistoles, 

Minus one crown, two liards ! 

Be Mau. [aside]. The old conjuror ! 

Sdeath, he'll inform me next how many cups 
I drank at dinner ! 

Rich. This is scandalous, 

Shaming your birth and blood. I tell you, sir, 
That you must pay your debts. 

De Mau. With all my heart, 

My lord. Where shall I borrow, then, the money ? 

Rich, [aside and laughing]. A humorous dare-devil ! — 
The very man 
To suit my purpose — ready, frank, and bold ! 

[Rising and earnestly. 
Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel ; — - 
I am not ; — I am just I — I found France rent asunder, — 
The rich men despots, and the poor banditti ; — 
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple ; 
Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws 
Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. 



204 richelieu; [act I. 

I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes 

Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase, 

Civilization on her luminous wings 

Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was my art ? 

Genius, some say, — some, fortune, — witchcraft, some. 

Not so ; — my art was justice ! — Force and fraud 

Misname it cruelty — you shall confute them ! 

My champion you 1 You met me as your foe, 

Depart my friend — You shall not die. — France needs you. 

You shall wipe off all stains, — be rich, be honour'd, 

Be great. \ 

{De Mauprat falls on his Jcnee— Richelieu raises him. 

I ask, sir, in return, this hand, 
To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match, 
Yet not exceed, her beauty. 

Be Mau. I, my lord, — [hesitating] 

I have no wish to marry. 

Rich. Surely, sir, 

To die were worse. 

Be Mau. Scarcely ; the poorest coward 

Must die, — but knowingly to march to marriage — 
My lord, it asks the courage of a lion ! 

Rich. Traitor, thou triflest with me ! I know all 1 
Thou hast dared to love my ward — my charge. 

Be Mau. As rivers 

May love the sunlight — basking in the beams, 
And hurrying on ! — 

Rich. Thou hast told her of thy love ? 

Be Mau. My lord, if I had dared to love a maid, 
Lowliest in France, I would not so have wronged her, 
As bid her link rich life and virgin hope 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 20S 

With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side, 
Pluck at the nuptial altar. 

Rich. I believe thee ; 

Yet since she knows not of thy love, renounce her ; 
Take life and fortune with another ! — Silent 1 

De Mau. Your fate has been one triumph — you know not 
How bless'd a thing it was in my dark hour 
To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish. 
Love hath no need of words ; — nor less within 
That holiest temple — the Heaven-builded soul — 
Breathes the recorded vow. Base knight, — false loveF 
Were he, who barter'd all, that brighten'd grief, 
Or sanctified despair, for life and gold. 
Kevoke your mercy ; — I prefer the fate 
I look'd for ! 

Rich. Huguet ! to the tapestry chamber 

Conduct your prisoner. [To Mauprat.] 

You will there behold 
The executioner : — your doom be private — 
And Heaven have mercy on you ! 

De Mau. When I am dead, 

Tell her, I loved her. 

Rich. Keep such follies, sir, 

For fitter ears ; — go — 

De Mau. Does he mock me ? 

[Exeunt De Mauprat, Huouet, 

Rich. Joseph, 

Come forth. 

Enter Joseph. 

Methinks your cheek hath lost its rubies ; 
I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh ; 
The scourge is heavy. 



206 RICHELIEU; [AOT I. 



h. Pray you, change the subject. 

Rich. You good men are so modest ! — Well, to business ! 
Go instantly — deeds — notaries ! — bid my stewards 
Arrange my house by the Luxembourg — my house 
No more ! — a bridal present to my ward, 
Who weds to-morrow. 

Joseph. Weds, with whom 1 

Rich. De Mauprat. 

Joseph. Penniless husband ! 

Rich. Bah ! the mate for beauty 

Should be a man, and not a money-chest ! 
When her brave sire lay on his bed of death, 
I vow'd to be a father to his Julie : — 
And so he died — the smile upon his lips ! — 
And when I spared the life of her young lover, 
Methought I saw that smile again ! — Who else, 
Look you, in all the court — who else so well, 
Brave, or supplant the favourite ; — balk the king — 
Baffle their schemes 1 — I have tried him : — He has honour 
And courage ; — qualities that eagle-plume 
Men's souls, — and fit them for the fiercest sun, 
Which ever melted the weak waxen minds 
That flutter in the beams of gaudy Power ! 
Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat : — When my play 
Was acted to dull tiers of lifeless gapers,* 

* The Abbe Arnaud tells us that the queen was a little avenged 
on the cardinal by the ill success of the tragi-comedy of " Mirame" 
— more than suspected to be his own — though presented to the 
world under the foster-name of Desinarets. Its representation (says 
Pelisson) cost him 300,000 crowns. He was so transported out of 
himself by the performance, that at one time he thrust his person 
half out of his box to show himself to the assembly ; at another time 
Ue imposed silence on the audience, that they might not lose f des 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 207 

Who had no soul for poetry, I saw him 
Applaud in the proper places : — trust me, Joseph, 
He is a man of an uncommon promise ! 

Joseph. And yet your foe. 

Rich. Have I not foes enow t— 

Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends. 
Remember my grand maxims : — First employ 
All methods to conciliate.* 

Joseph. Failing these ? 

Rich, [fiercely]. All means to crush : as with the 
opening, and 
The clenching of this little hand, I will 
Crush the small venom of these stinging courtiers. 
So, so, we've baffled Baradas. 

Joseph. And when 

Check the conspiracy 1 

Rich. Check, check 1 Full way to it. 

Let it bud, ripen, flaunt i' the day, and burst 
To fruit, — the Dead Sea's fruit of ashes ; ashes 

endroits encore plus beaux / " He said afterwards to Desmarets : — 
" Eh bien, les Francais n'auront done jamais de gout, lis n'ontpas 
e'te' charmed de Mirame ! " Arnaud says pithily, — " On ne pouvoit 
alors avoir d'autre satisfaction des offenses d'un homme qui e"toit 
maitre de tout, et redoutable a tout le monde." Nevertheless, his 
style in prose, though not devoid of the pedantic affectations of the 
time, often rises into very noble eloquence. 

* " Vialart remarque une chose qui peut expliquer la conduite 
de Richelieu en d'autres circonstances : — e'est que les seigneurs a 
qui leur naissance ou leur merite pouvoit permettre des pretensions, 
il avoit pour systeme, de leur accorder au-dela meme de leurs droits 
et de leurs espe'rances, mais, aussi, une fois comble's — si, au lieu de 
reconnoitre ses services ils se levoient contre lui, et ils traitoit sans 
mise'ricorde." — Anquetil. See also the Political Testament, and the 
Memoires de Cardinal Richelieu, in Petitot's collection. 



208 RICHELIEU ; [act A 

Which I will scatter to the winds. 

Go, Joseph ; 
When you return, I have a feast for you ; 
The last great act of my great play : the verses, 
Methinks, are fine, — ah, very fine. — You write 
Verses ! * — [aside] such verses ! — You have wit, discern- 
ment. 

Joseph [aside]. Worse than the scourge ! Strange thai 
so great a statesman 
Should be so bad a poet. 
. -Rich. What dost thou say ? 

Joseph. That it is strange so great a statesman 
should 
Be so sublime a poet. 

Rich. Ah, you rogue ; 

Laws die, Books never. Of my ministry 
I am not vain ! but of my muse, I own it. 
Come, you shall hear the verses now. [Takes up a MS. 

Joseph. My lord, 

The deeds, the notaries ! 

Rich. True, I pity you ; 

But business first, then pleasure. [Exit Joseph* 

Rich, [seats himself and reading]. Ah, sublime ! 

* "Tan tot fanatique — tant6t fourbe — fonder les religieuses de 
Calvaare— faire des vers." Thus speaks Voltaire of Father Joseph. 
His talents and influence with Richelieu, grossly exaggerated in his 
own day, are now rightly estimated. 

" C'etoifc en effet un homme infatigable — portant dans les entre- 
prises, l'aetiuvite', la souplesse, ropinUttrete* propre a les faire re'ussir." 
— AiiquetU. He wrote a Latin poem, called "La Turciade," in 
which he sougfot to excite the kingdoms of Christendom against the 
Turks. JBut itihe inspiration of Tyrtseus was denied to Father 
Joseph. 



SCENE II.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 209 

Enter De Mauprat and Julie. 

De Mau. Oh, speak, my lord — I dare not think you 
mock me. 
And yet — 

Rich. Hush — hush — This line must be consider'd ! 

Julie. Are we not both your children 1 

Etch. "What a couplet ! 

How now ! Oh, sir — you live ! 

De Mau. Why, no, methinks, 

Elysium is not life ! 

Julie. He smiles ! — you smile, 

My father ! From my heart for ever, now, 
I'll blot the name of orphan ! 

Rich. Rise, my children, 

For ye are mine — mine both ; — and in your sweet 
And young delight — your love (life's first-born glory) — 
My own lost youth breathes musical ! 

De Mau. I'll seek 

Temple and priest henceforward, were it but 
To learn Heaven's choicest blessings. 

Rich. Thou shalt seek 

Temple and priest right soon ; the morrow's sun 
Shall see across these barren thresholds pass 
The fairest bride in Paris. — Go, my children, 
Even / loved once ! — Be lovers while ye may ! 
How is it with you, sir ! You bear it bravely : 
You know, it asks the courage of a lion. 

[Exeunt Julie and De Mauprat. 

Rich. Oh godlike Power ! Woe, Rapture, Penury, 
Wealth,— 
Marriage and Death, for one infirm old man 
Through a great empire to dispense — withhold— 

P 



210 RICHELIEU ; [ACT II. 

As the will whispers ! And shall things — like motes 

That live in my daylight — lackeys of court wages, 

Dwarf'd starvelings — manikins, upon whose shoulders 

The burthen of a province were a load 

More heavy than the globe on Atlas, — cast 

Lots for my robes and sceptre 1 France ! I love thee ! 

All Earth shall never pluck thee from my heart ! 

My mistress France — my wedded wife, — sweet France, 

Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me ! 

[Exit Richelieu. 



ACT II. 
SECOND day. 

SCENE I. — A splendid apartment in Mauprat's new House. 
Casements opening to the Gardens, beyond which the domes of the 
Luxembourg Palace. 

Enter Baradas. 

Bar. Mauprat's new home : — too splendid for a soldier ! 
But o'er his floors — the while I stalk — methinks 
My shadow spreads gigantic to the gloom 
The old rude towers of the Bastile cast far 
Along the smoothness of the jocund day. — 
Well, thou hast 'scaped the fierce caprice of Richelieu ; 
But art thou farther from the headsman, fool ? 
Thy secret I have whisper'd to the king ; 
Thy marriage makes the king thy foe. — Thou stand'st 
On the abyss — and in the pool below 
I see a ghastly, headless phantom mirror'd ; — 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY 211 

Thy likeness ere the marriage moon hath waned. 
Meanwhile — meanwhile — ha — ha, if thou art wedded, 
Thou art not wived. 

Enter Mauprat [splendidly- dressed]. 

De Man. Was ever fate like mine 2 

So blest and yet so wretched ! 

Bar, Joy, De Mauprat ! — 

Why, what a brow, man, for your wedding-day ! 

Be JIau. Jest not ! — Distraction ! 

Bar. What, your wife a shrew 

Already 1 Courage, man — the common lot ! 

De Mau. Oh ! that she were less lovely, or less loved ! 

Bar. Riddles again ! 

De Mau. You know what chanced between 

The cardinal and myself. 

Bar. This mornimr brought 

Your letter : — faith, a strange account ! I laugh'd 
And wept at once for gladness. 

De Mau. We were wed 

At noon ; — the rite perform'd, came hither ! — scarce ' 
Arrived, when — : — ' 

Bar. Well ?— 

De Mau. Wide flew the doors, and lo> 

Messire de Beringhen, and this epistle ! 

Bar. 'Tis the king's hand ! — the royal seal ! 

De Mau. Read — read — ■ 

Bar. [reading]. "Whereas Adrien de Mauprat, Colonel 
and Chevalier in our armies, being already guilty of High 
Treason, by the seizure of our town of Faviaux, has pre- 
sumed, without our knowledge, consent, or sanction, to con- 
nect himself by marriage with Julie de Mortemar, a 
p 2 



212 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 

wealthy orphan, attached to the person of Her Majesty, 
"without our knowledge or consent — We do hereby pro- 
'claim and declare the said marriage contrary to law. On 
penalty of death, Adrien de Mauprat will not communi- 
cate with the said Julie de Mortemar by word or letter, 
save in the presence of our faithful servant, the Sieur dc 
Beringhen, and then with such respect and decorum as 
are due to a demoiselle attached to the Court of France, 
until such time as it may suit our royal pleasure to confer 
with the Holy Church on the formal annulment of the 
marriage, and with our Council on the punishment to be 
awarded to Messire de Mauprat, who is cautioned, for his 
own sake, to preserve silence as to our injunction, more 
especially to Mademoiselle de Mortemar. 
• a Given under our hand and seal at the Louvre. 

" Louis." 

Bar. [returning the letter\. Amazement ! — Did not 
Richelieu say, the king 
Knew not your crime 1 

De Mau. He said so. 

Bar. Poor De Mauprat ! — 

- See you the snare, the vengeance worse than death, 
Of which you are the victim 1 
. 'De. Mau. Ha ! 

Bar. \aside] It works ! 

[Julie and De Beringhen in the Gardens. 
You have not sought the cardinal yet to 

De Mau. No ! 

Scarce yet my sense awaken'd from the shock ; 
JNow I will seek him. 

Bar. Hold, beware ! — Stir not 

>Till we confer again. 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 213 

De Mau. Speak — out, man ! 

Bar. Hush ! 

Your wife ! — De Beringhen ! — Be on your guard — 
Obey the royal orders to the letter. 
I'll look around your palace. By my troth 
A princely mansion ! 

De Mau. Stay — 

Bar. So new a bridegroom 

Can want no visitors ; — Your servant, madam ! 
Oh ! happy pair — Oh ! charming picture ! 

[Exit through a side-door. 
K Julie. Adrien, 

You left us suddenly — Are you not well ? 

De Mau. Oh, very well — that is — extremely ill ! 

Julie. Ill, Adrien 1 [Taking his hand. 

De Mau. Not when I see thee. 

[He is about to lift her hand to his lips when De Beringhen 
cougJis and pulls his mantle. Mauprat drops the hand 
and walks away. 

Julie. Alas ! 

Should he not love me ? 

De Ber. [aside.] Have a care ; I must 
Report each word — each gesture to his Majesty. 

De Mau. Sir, if you were not in his Majesty's service 
You'd be the most officious, impudent, 
Damn'd busy-body ever interfering 
In a man's family affairs. 

De Ber. But as 

I do belong, sir, to his Majesty — 

De Mau. You're lucky! — Still, were we a story 
higher, 
'Twere prudent not to go too near the window. 






214 iuciielieu ; [act ii. 

Julie. Adrien, what have I done 1 Say, am I 
changed 
Since yesterday 1 — or was it but for wealth, 
Ambition, life — that — that — you swore you loved me 1 

Be Mau. I shall go mad ! — I do, indeed I do — 

Be Ber. [aside.'] Not love her ! that were highly dis- 
respectful. 

Julie. You do — what, Adrien 1 

Be Mau. Oh ! I do, indeed 

I do think, that this weather is delightful ! 
A charming day ! the sky is so serene ! 
And what a prospect ! — [to De Beringhen] Oh ! you 
popinjay ! 

Julie. He jests at me ! — he mocks me ! — yet I love 
him, 
And every look becomes the lips we love ! 
Perhaps I am too grave 1 — You laugh at Julie ; 
If laughter please you, welcome be the music ! 
Only say, Adrien, that you love me. 

Be Mau. [kissing her hand.] Ay ; 

With my whole heart I love you ! 

Now, sir, go, 
And tell that to his Majesty ! — Who ever 
Heard of its being a state offence to kiss 
The hand of one's own wife 1 

Julie. He says he loves me, 

And starts away, as if to say " I love you " 
Meant something very dreadful. — Come, sit by me, — 
I place your chair ! — fie on your gallantry ! 

{They sit down ; as he pushes his chair back, she draws hers 
nearer. 

Why must this strange Messire de Beringhen 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 215 

Be always here 1 He never takes a hint. 
Do you not wish him gone ? 

De Mau. Upon my soul 

I do, my Julie ! — Send him for your bouquet, 
Your glove, your — anything. 

Julie. Messire de Beringhen, 
I dropp'd my glove in the gardens by the fountain, 
Or the alcove, or — stay — no, by the statue 
Of Cupid ; may I ask you to 

De Ber. To send for it % 

Certainly [ringing a bell on the table.] Andre, Pierre, 

(your rascals, how- 
Do ye c£# them 1 ) 

Enter Servants. 

Ah — Madame has dropp'd her glove 
In the gardens, by the fountain, — or the alcove ; 
Or — stay — no, by the statue — eh 1 — of Cupid. 
Bring it. 

De Mau. Did ever now one pair of shoulders 
Carry such waggon-loads of impudence 
Into a gentleman's drawing-room % 

Dear Julie, 
I'm busy — letters — visitors — the devil ! 
I do beseech you leave me — I say — leave me. 

Julie [weeping.] You are unkind. [Exit. 

[As she goes out, Maupbat drops on one knee and hisses the 
hem of her mantle, unseen by her. 

De Ber. Ten millions of apologies 

De Mau. I'll not take one of them. I have, as yet, 

Withstood all things — my heart — my love — my rights. 

But Julie's tears ! When is this farce to end? 



2M> RICHELIEU ; [ACT II. 

Be Ber. Oh ! when you please. His Majesty requests 
me, 
As soon as you infringe his gracious orders, 
To introduce you to the Governor 
Of the Bastile. I should have had that honour 
Before, but, gad, my foible is good-nature ; 
One can't be hard upon a friend's infirmities. 

Be Mau. I know the king can send me to the scaffold — 
Dark prospect ! — biro I'm used to it ; and if 
The Church and Council, by this hour to-morrow, 
One way or other settle not the matter, 
I w m 

Be Ber. What, my dear sir 1 

Be Mau. Show you the door 

My dear, dear sir ; talk as I please, with whom 
I please, in my own house, dear sir, until 
His Majesty shall condescend to find 
A stouter gentleman than you, dear sir, 
To take me out ; and now you understand, me, 
My dear, most dear — oh damnably dear air ! 

Be Ber. What, almost in a passion ! you will cool 
Upon reflection. Well, since Madame' s absent, 
I'll take a small refreshment. Now, don't stir ; 
Be careful ; — how's your burgundy 1 — I'll taste it — 
Finish it all before I leave you. Nay, 
No form ; — you see I make myself at home. 

Exit De Berinshen. 

Be Mau. [going to the door through which Babadas had 
passed] Baradas ! Count ! 

Enter Baradas. 
You spoke of snares — of vengeance 
Sharper than death — be plainer. 






SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 217 

Bar. What so clear 1 

Richelieu has but two passions — 

Be Mau. Richelieu ! 

Bar. Yes ! 

Ambition and revenge — in you both blended. 
First for ambition — Julie is his ward, 
Innocent — docile — pliant to his will — 
He placed her at the court — foresaw the rest — 
The king loves Julie ! 

Be Mau. Merciful Heaven ! The king ! 

Bar. Such Cupid3 lend new plumes to Richelieu's 
wings : 
But the court etiquette must give such Cupids 
The veil of Hymen — (Hymen but in name.) 
He look'd abroad — found you his foe : — thus served 
Ambition — by the grandeur of hi3 ward, 
And vengeance — by dishonour to his foe ! 

Be Mau. Prove this. 

Bar. You have the proof — the royal Letter : — 

Your strange exemption from the general pardon, 
Known but to me and Richelieu ; can you doubt 
Your Mend to acquit your foe? The truth is 

glaring- 
Richelieu alone could tell tha princely lover 
The tale which sells your life, — or buys your honour ! 

Be Mau. I see it all 1 Mock pardon — hurried nup- 
tials — 
False bounty ! — all ! — the serpent of that smile ! 
Oh ! it stings home ! 

Bar. You yet shall crush his malice ; 

Our plans are sure : — Orleans is at our head ; 
We meet to-night ; join us, and with us triumph. 



218 RICHELIEU; [act II. 

De JIau. To-night ? — Oh, Heaven ! — niy marriage 
night ! — Revenge ! 

Bar. [What class of men, whose white lips do not curse 
The grim, insatiate, universal tyrant ? 
We, noble-born — where are our antique rights — 
Our feudal seigniories — our castled strength, 
That did divide us from the base Plebeians, 
And made our swords our law — where are they 1 Trod 
To dust — and o'er the graves of our dead power 
Scaffolds are monuments — the kingly house 
Shorn of its beams — the Royal Sun of France 
"Clipsed by this blood-red comet. Where we turn, 
Nothing but Richelieu ! — armies — church — state — laws, 
But mirrors that do multiply his beams. 
He sees all — acts all — Argus and Briaraeus — 
Spy at our boards — and deathsman at our hearths ; 
Under the venom of one laidley nightshade, 
Wither the lilies of all France. 

De Mau. [impatiently]. But Julie — 

Bar. [unheeding him]. As yet the Fiend that serves 
hath saved his power 
From every snare ; and in the epitaphs 
Of many victims dwells a warning moral 
That preaches caution. Were I not assured 
That what before was hope is ripen'd now 
Into most certain safety, trust me, Mauprat, 
I still could hush my hate and mark thy wrongs, 
And say u Be patient ! " Now, the King himself 
Smiles kindly when I tell him that his peers 
Will rid him of his Priest. You knit your brows, 
"Noble impatience ! — Pass we to our scheme !] 
Tis Richelieu's wont, each morn, within his chapel 



SCENE I.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 219 

(Hypocrite worship ended), to dispense 
Alms to the Mendicant-friars, — in that guise 
A band (yourself the leader) shall surround 
And seize the despot. 

Do Jfau. But the king ? — but Julie ] 

Bar. The king, infirm in health, in mind more feeble, 
Is but the plaything of a minister's will. 
Were Richelieu dead — his power were mine ; and Louis 
Soon should forget his passion and your crime. 
But whither now 1 

De Jfau. I know not ; I scarce hear thee ; 

A little while for thought : anon I'll join thee ; 
But now, all air seems tainted, and I loathe 
The face of man ! 

[Exit De Mauprat through the Gardens. 

Bar. ' Start from the chase, my prey, 

But as thou speed'st the hell-hounds of revenge 
Pant in thy track and dog thee down. 

Enter De Beringhen, his mouth full, a napkin in 
his hand. 

De Ber. Chevalier, 

Your cook's a miracle, — what, my host gone 1 
Faith, count, my office is a post of danger — 
A fiery fellow, Mauprat ! touch and go, — 
Match and saltpetre, — pr — r — r — r — ! N 

Bar. You 

Will be released ere long. The king resolves 
To call the bride to court this day. 

Be Ber. Poor Mauprat ! 

Yet, since you love the lady, why so careless 
Of the king's suit 1 

Bar. Because the lady 's virtuous, 



220 RICHELIEU ; [act h. 

And the king timid. Ere lie win the suit, 

He'll lose the crown, — the bride will be a widow, — 

And I — the Richelieu of the Regent Orleans. 

Be Ber. Is Louis still so chafed against the Fox 
For snatching yon fair dainty from the Lion 1 

Bar. So chafed, that Richelieu totters. Yes, the kiiag 
Is half conspirator against the cardinal. 
Enough of this. I've found the man we wanted, — 
The man to head the hands that murder Richelieu, — 
The man, whose name the synonym for daring. 

Be Ber. He must mean me ! No, count ; I am, I own, 
A valiant dog — but still 

Bar. Whom can I mean 

But Mauprat ? — Mark, to-night we meet at Marion's. 
There shall we sign ; thence send this scroll [showing it] 

to Bouillon. 
You're in that secret [affectionately] — one of our new 
Council. 

Be Ber. But to admit the Spaniard — France's foe— 
Into the heart of France — dethrone the king — 
It looks like treason, and I smell the headsman. 

Bar. Oh, sir, too late to falter : when we meet 
We must arrange the separate, coarser scheme, 
For Richelieu's death. Of this despatch De Mauprat 
Must nothing learn. He only bites at vengeance, 
And he would start from treason. — We must post him 
Without the door at Marion's — as a sentiy. 
[^sicZe] — So, when his head is on the block — his tongue 
Cannot betray our "more august designs ! 

Be Ber. I'll meet you if the king can spare me. — 
[Aside.] No ! 
I am too old a goos3 to play with foxes, 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 221 

I'll roost at home. Meanwhile, in the next room 
There's a delicious pate, — let's discuss it. 

Bar. Pshaw ! a man fill'd with a sublime ambition 
Has no time t« discuss your pates. 

De Ber. Pshaw ! 

And a man fill'd with as sublime a pate 
Has no time to discuss ambition. — Gad, 
I have the best of it ! 

Enter Julie hastily with fast Courtier. 

Julie [to Courtier]. A summons, sir, 

To attend the Louvre 1 — On this day, too 1 

Cour. Madame, 

The royal carriage waits below. — Messire [to De Berin- 

ghen] 
You will return with us. 

Julie. What can this mean ?— 

Where is my husband 1 

Bar. He has left the house, 

Perhaps till nightfall — so he bade me tell you. 
Alas, were I the lord of such fair treasure — 

Julie [impatiently]. Till nightfall 1 — Strange — my 
heart misgives me ! 

Cour. Madam, 

My orders will not broke delay. 

Julie [to Baradas]. You'll see him — 

And you will tell him ! 

Bar. From the flowers of Hybla 

Never more gladly did the bee bear honey, 
Than I take sweetness from those rosiest lips, 
Though to the hive of others ! 

Cour. [to De Be ring hen]. Come, Messire. 



RICHELIEU ; [ACT II. 

De Ber. [hesitating]. One moment, just to — 

Cour. * Come, sir. 

De Ber. I shall not 

Discuss the pate after all. 'Ecod, 
I'm puzzled now. I don't know who's the best of it ! 

[Exeunt Julie, De Beringhen, and Courtier. 

Bar. Now will this lire his fever into madness ! 
All is made clear : Mauprat must murder Richelieu — 
Die for that crime : — I shall console his Julie — 
This will reach Bouillon ! — from the wrecks of France 
I shall carve out — who knows — perchance a throne ! 
All in despite of my Lord Cardinal. — 

Enter De Mauprat from the Gardens. 

De Mau. Speak ! can it be ? — Methought, that from 
the terrace 
I saw the carriage of the king — and Julie ! 
No ! — no ! — my frenzy peoples the void air 
With its own phantoms ! 

Bar. Nay, too true. — Alas ! 

Was ever lightning swifter, or more blasting, 
Than Richelieu's forked guile 1 

De Mau. I'll to the Louvre 

Bar. And lose all hope! — The Louvre! — the sure 
gate 
To the Bastile ! 

De Mau. The king 

Bar. Is but the wax, 

Which Richelieu stamps ! Break the malignant seal, 
And I will rase the print. Come, man, take heart I 
Her virtue well could brave a sterner trial 
Than a few hours of cold imperious courtship. 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 223 

Were Richelieu dust — no danger ! 

Dc Mau. Ghastly Vengeance ! 

To thee, and thine august and solemn sister, 
The unrelenting Death, I dedicate 
The blood of Armand Richelieu ! When Dishonour 
Reaches our hearths Law dies and Murther takes 
The angel shape of Justice ! 

Bar. Bravely said ! 

At midnight, — Marion's ! — Nay, I cannot leave thee 

To thoughts that 

. Be Mau. Speak not to me ! — I am yours ! — 

But speak not ! There's a voice within my soul, 
Whose cry could drown the thunder. — Oh ! if men 
Will play dark sorcery with the heart of man, 
Let them, who raise the spell, beware the Fiend ! \Eoceunt. 



SCENE II. 

A room in the Palais Cardinal (as in tJte First Act). 

Biceielieu and Joseph. 

Francois toriting at a table. 

Joseph. Yes ; — Huguet, taking his accustom'd round, — 
Disguised as some plain burgher, — heard these rufflers 
Quoting your name : — he listen'd, — "Pshaw," said one, 
" We are to seize, the Cardinal in his palace 
To-morrow ! "— " How i " the other ask'd :— " You'll hear 
The whole design to-night : the Duke of Orleans 
And Baradas have got the map of action 



224 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 

At their fingers' end." — " So be it," quoth the other, 
u I will be there, — Marion de Lome's — at midnight ! " 

Rich. I have them, man, — I have them ! 

Joseph. So they say 

Of you, my lord ; — believe me, that their plans 
Are mightier than you deem. You must employ 
Means no less vast to meet them ! 

Rich. Bah ! in policy 

We foil gigantic danger, not by giants, 
But dwarfs. — The statues of our stately fortune 
Are sculptured by the chisel — not the axe ! * 
Ah ! were I younger — by the knightly heart 
That beats beneath these priestly robes,t I would 
Have pastime with these cut-throats ! — Yea, — as when 

* Richelieu not only employed the lowest, but would often con- 
sult men commonly esteemed the dullest. " II disait que dans des 
choees de tres grande importance, il avait experimente, que les 
moins sages donnaient sou vent les meilleurs expe"diens." — Le Clcrc 

f Both Richelieu and Joseph were originally intended for the 
profession of arms. Joseph had served before he obeyed the spiritual 
inspiration to become a Capuchin. The death of his brother opened 
to Richelieu the bishopric of Lucon ; but his military propensities 
were as strong as his priestly ambition. I need scarcely add that 
the cardinal, during his brilliant campaign in Italy, inarched at the 
head of his troops in complete armour. It was under his adminis- 
tration that occurs the last example of proclaiming war by the 
chivalric defiance of herald and cartel. Richelieu valued himself 
much on his personal activity, — for his vanity was as universal as 
his ambition. A nobleman of the house of Grammont one day found 
him employed in jumping, and with all the savoir vivre of a French- 
man and a courtier, offered to jump against him. He suffered the 
cardinal to jump higher, and soon after found himself rewarded by 
an appointment. Yet, strangely enough, this vanity did not lead to 
a patronage injurious to the state ; for never before in France was 
ability made so essential a requisite in promotion. He was lucky in 
finding the cleverest fellow among his adr^^t flatterers. 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 225 

Lured to the ambush of the expecting foe, — 
I clove my pathway through the plumed sea ! 
Reach me yon falchion, Francois, — not that bauble 
For carpet-warriors, — yonder — such a blade 
As old Charles Martel might have wielded when 
He drove the Saracen from France. 

[Francis brings him one of the long two-handed swords 
worn in the middle ages. 

With this 
I, at Rochelle, did hand to hand engage 
The stalwart Englisher, — no mongrels, boy, 
Those island mastiffs, — mark the notch — a deep one— > 
His casque made here, — I shore him to the waist ! 
A toy — a feather — then ! [Tries to wield, and lets it fall. 

You see, a child could 
Slay Richelieu now. 

Fran, [his hand on his hilt]. But now, at your command 
Are other weapons, my good lord. 

Rich, [who has seated himself as to wrili, lifts the pen.] 

True,— This ! 
Beneath the rule of men entirely great 
The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold 
The arch-enchanter's wand ! — itself a nothing ! — 
But taking sorcery from the master-hand 
To paralyse the Caesars — and to strike 
The loud earth breathless ! — Take away the sword — 
States can be saved without it ! [Looking on the clock. 

'Tis the hour, — 
Retire, sir. [Exit Francois. 

[4 "knock is heard. A door concealed in the arras opens 
cautiously. Enter Marion de Lorme. 

Joseph [amazed]. Marion de Lorme ! 

Q 



22(5 richelieu; [act II 

Rich Hist ! Joseph ! 

Keep guard. 

[Joseph retires to the principal entrance. 

My faithful Marion ! 

Marion. Good, my Lord, 

They meet to-night in my poor house. The Duke 
Of O- leans heads them. 

Rich. Yes, go on. 

Marion. His Highness/ 

Much question'd if I knew some brave, discreet, 
And vigilant man, whose tongue could keep a secret, 
And who had those twin qualities for service, 
The love of gold, the hate of Richelieu. — 

Rich. You 1— 

Marion. Made answer, "Yes — my brother; — bold and 
trusty ; 
Whose faith, my faith could pledge;" — the Duke then 

bade me 
Have him equipp'd and arm'd — well mounted — ready 
This night to part for Italy. 

Rich. Aha ! — 

Has Bouillon too turn'd traitor ? — So, methoughfc ! — 
What part of Italy 1 

Marion. The Piedmont frontier, 

Where Bouillon lies encamp'd. 

Rich. Now there is danger I 

Great danger ! — If he tamper with, the Spaniard, 
And Louis list not to my counsel, as, 
Without sure proof, he will not, — France is lost. 
What more 1 

Marion. Dark hints of some design to seize 
Your person in your palace, Nothing clear — 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 227 

His Highness trembled while he spoke — the words 
Did choke each other. 

Rich. So ! — Who is the brother 

You recommended to the Duke 1 

Marion. Whoever 

Your Eminence may father ! — 

Rich. Darling Marion ! * 

[Goes to the table, and returns with a large lag of gold. 

There — pshaw — a trifle ! — What an eye you have ! 
And what a smile — child S — [kisses for.]— Ah! you fair 

perdition — 
Tis well I'm old ! 

Marion [aside and seriously]. What a great man he is ! 

Rich. You are sure they meet ? — the hour 1 

Marion. At midnight. 

Rich. And 

You will engage to give the Duke's Despatch 
To whom I send 1 

Marion. Ay, marry ! 

Riclu [aside]. Huguet ? No ; 

* Voltaire openly charges Richelieu with being the lover of 
Marion de Lorme ; and the great poet of France, Victor Hugo, has 
sacrificed Histoiy to adorn her with qualities which were certainly 
not added to her personal charms. She was not less perfidious than 
beautiful. Le Clerc, properly, refutes the accusation of Voltaire 
against the discretion of Richelieu, and says, very justly, that if the 
great minister had the frailties of human nature, he learnt how to 
veil them, — at least when he obtained the scarlet. In earlier life 
he had been prone to gallantries which a little prepossessed the 
king (who was formal and decorous, and threw a singular coldness 
into the few attachments he permitted to himself), against the 
aspiring intriguer. But these gayer occupations died away in the 
engagement of higher pursuits or of darker passions. 



RICHELIEU ; [ACT II. 

He will be wanted elsewhere. — Joseph 1 — zealous, 
But too well known — too much the elder brother ! 
Mauprat ? — alas ! it is his wedding-day ! — 
Francois ? — the Man of Men ! — unnoted — young- 
Ambitious — [Goes to the door.] — Francois ! 

Enter Francois. 

Rich. Follow this fair lady \ 

(Find him the suiting garments, Marion,) take 
My fleetest steed : — arm thyself to the teeth ; 
A packet will be given you — with orders, 
jNTo matter what ! — The instant that your hand 
Closes upon it— clutch it, like your honour, 
Which Death alone can steal, or ravish — set 
Spurs to your steed — be breathless, till you stand 
Again before me. — Stay, sir ! — You will find me 
Two short leagues hence — at Ruelle, in my castle. 
Young man, be blithe ! — for — note me — from the hour 
I grasp that packet — think your guardian Star 
Rains fortune on you ! — 

From. If I fail— 

Rich. Fail— fail S 

In the lexicon of youth, which Fate reserves 
For a bright manhood, there is no such word 
As — -fail ! — (You will instruct him further, Marion) 
Follow her — but at distance ; — speak not to her, 
Till you are housed. — Farewell, boy ! Never say 
u Fail " again. 

Fran. I will not ! 

Rich, [patting his locks]. There's my young hero ! — 
[Exeimt Francois, Marion : 

Rich. So, they would seize my person in this palace ]— 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 229- 

I cannot guess their scheme ; — but my retinue 
Is here too large ! — a single traitor could 
Strike impotent the faith of thousands ; — Joseph, 
Art sure of Huguet 1 — Think — we hang'd his Father ! 
Joseph. But you have bought the Son ; — heap'd favours 

on him ! 
Rich. Trash ! — favours past — that's nothing. — In his 
. hours 
Of confidence with you, has he named the favours ' 
To come — he counts on 1 

Joseph. Yes : — a Colonel's rank, 

And Letters of Nobility. 
Rich. What, Huguet ! — 

[Here Huguet enters, as to address the Cardinal, who does* 
not perceive him. 

Hug. My own name, soft — [glides behind the screen]. 

Rich. Colonel and Nobleman !' 

My bashful Huguet — that can never be ! — 
We have him not the less — we'll promise it ! 
And see the King withholds ! — Ah, kings are oft 
A great convenience to a minister ! 
No wrong to Huguet either : — Moralists 
Say, Hope is sweeter than Possession ! — Yes ! — 
We'll count on Huguet ! Favours past do gorge 
Our dogs ! leave service drowsy — dull the scent, 
Slacken the speed ; — favours to come, my Joseph, 
Produce a lusty, hungry gratitude, 
A ravenous zeal, that of the commonest cur 
Would make a Cerberus. — You are right, this treason 
Assumes a fearful aspect : — but once crush' d, 
Its very ashes shall manure the soil 
Of power ; and ripen such full sheaves of greatness, 



230 richelieu; [act ir. 

That all the summer of my fate shall seem 
Fruitless beside the autumn ! 

[Huguet holds up his hand menacingly, and creeps out. 

Joseph. The saints grant it 1 

Rich, [solemnly]. Yes — for sweet France, Heaven gran t 
it ! — O my country, 
For thee — thee only — though men deem it not — 
Are toil and terror my familiars ! — I 
Have made thee great and fair — upon thy brows 
Wreath'd the old Roman laurel : — at thy feet 
Bow'd nations down. — No pulse in my ambition 
Whose beatings were not measured from thy heart ! 
[In the old times before us, patriots lived 
And died for liberty — 

Joseph. As you would live 

And die for despotry — 

Rich. False monk, not so, 

But for the purple and the power wherein 
State clothes herself. — I love my native land 
Not as Yenetian, Englisher, or Swiss, 
But as a Noble and a Priest of France ; 
" All things for France " — lo, my eternal maxim ! 
The vital axle of the restless wheels 
That bear me on ! With her I have entwined 
My passions and my fate — my crimes — my virtues — 
Hated and loved,* and schemed, and shed men's blood, 

* Richelieu did in fact so thoroughly associate himself with the 
State, that in cases where the extreme penalty of the law had been 
incurred, Le Clerc justly observes that he was more inexorable to 
those he had favoured — even to his own connections — than to other 
and more indifferent offenders. It must be remembered, as some 
excuse for his unrelenting sternness, that before his time the great 
had been accustomed to commit any disorder with impunity, even 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 231 

As the calm crafts of Tuscan Sages teach 

Those who would make their country great. Beyond 

The map of France — my heart can travel not, 

But fills that limit to its farthest verge ; 

And while I live — Richelieu and France are one.] 

"We Priests, to whom the Church forbids in youth 

The plighted one — to manhood's toil denies 

The soother helpmate — from our wither'd age 

the crime of treason; — '* auparavant on ne faisoit poser les armes- 
aux rebelles qu'en leur accordant quelque recompense." On enter- 
ing into the administration, he therefore laid it down as a maxim 
necessary to the existence of the State, that " no crime should be 
committed with impunity." To carry out this maxim, the long- 
established license to crime made even justice seem cruel. But the 
victims most commiserated, from their birth or accomplishments, as 
Montmorenci, or Cinq Mars, were traitors in actual conspiracy 
against their country, and would have forfeited life in any land 
where the punishment of death existed, and the lawgiver was 
strong enough to vindicate the law. Richelieu was, in fact, a 
patriot unsoftened by philanthropy. As in Venice (where the fa- 
vourite aphorism was — "Venice first, Christianity next," *) so, with 
Eichelieu, the primary consideration was, "What will be best for 
the country ?" He had no abstract principle, whether as a politician 
or a priest, when applied to the world that lay beyond the bound- 
aries of France. Thus he, whose object was to found in France a 
splendid and imperious despotism, assisted the Parliamentary party 
in England, and signed a treaty of alliance and subsidies with the 
Catalan rebels, for the establishment of a republic in Barcelona : to 
convulse other monarchies was to consolidate the growing monarchy 
of France. So he, who completely crushed the Protestant party at 
home, braved all the wrath of the Vatican, and even the resentment 
of the King, in giving the most essential aid to the Protestants 
abroad. There was, indeed, a largeness of view in his hostility to 
the French Huguenots, which must be carefully distinguished from 
the intolerance of the mere priest. He opposed them, not as a 



Pria Veneziana, poi Christiane." 



richelieu , Tact u 

Shuts the sweet blossoms of the second spring 
That smiles in the name of Father— we are yet 
Not holier than Humanity, and must 
Fulfil Humanity's condition — Love ! 
Debarred the Actual, we but breathe a life 
To the chill Marble of the Ideal— Thus, 
In thy unseen and abstract Majesty, 
My France, my Country, I have bodied forth 
A thing to love. What are these robes of state, 
This pomp, this palace 1 perishable baubles ! 
In this world two things only are immortal- 
Fame and a People ! 

Enter Huguet. 

Hug. My Lord Cardinal, 

Your Eminence bade me seek you at this hour. 

Rich. Did I ? — True, Huguet. — So — you overheard 
Strange talk amongst these gallants 1 Snares and traps 
For Richelieu 1 — Well — we'll balk them ; let me think — 
The men-at-arms you head — how many 1 

Hug. Twenty,* 

My Lord. 

Catholic, but as a statesman. The Huguenots were strong repub- 
licans, and had formed plans for dividing France into provincial 
commonwealths; and the existence of Eochelle was absolutely in- 
compatible with the integrity of the French monarchy. It was a 
second capital, held by the Huguenots, claiming independent 
authority and the right to treat with foreign powers. Richelieu's 
final conquest was marked by a humanity that had nothing of the 
bigot. The Huguenots obtained a complete amnesty, and had only 
to regret the loss of privileges and fortifications which could not 
have existed with any security to the rest of France. 

* The guard attached to Richelieu's person was, in the first 
instance, fifty arquebusiers, afterwards increased to two companies 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 233 

Rich. All trusty 1 

Hug. Yes, for ordinary 

Occasions — if for great ones, I would change 
Three-fourths at least. 

Rich. Ay, what are great occasions 1 

Hug. Great bribes ! 

Rich, [to Joseph]. Good lack, he knows some paragons 
Superior to great bribes ! 

Hug. True Gentlemen 

"Who have transgress'd the laws — and value life 
And lack not gold ; your Eminence alone 
Can grant them pardon. .Ergo, you can trust them ! 

Rich. Logic ! — So be it — let this lionest twenty 
Be arm'd and mounted. — [Jsidfe.] So they meet at mid- 
night, 
The attempt on me to-morrow — Ho ! we'll strike 
'Twixt wind and water. — [-4£owd.] Does it need much 

time 
To find these ornaments to Human Nature ? 

Hug. My Lord — the trustiest of them are not birds 
That love the daylight. — I do know a haunt 
Where they meet nightly — 

Rich. Ere the dawn be grey, 

All could be arm'd, assembled, and at Ruelle 
In my old hall ? 

Hug. By one hour after midnight. 

Rich. The castle's strong. You know its outlets, 
Huguet % 

of cavalry and two hundred musqueteers. Huguet is therefore to 
be considered merely as the lieutenant of a small detachment of this 
little army. In point of fact, the subdivisions of the guard took it 
in turns to serve. 



234 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 

Would twenty men, well posted, keep such guard 
That not one step — (and Murther's step is stealthy) — 
Could glide within — unseen 1 

Bug. A triple wall — 

A drawbridge and portcullis — twenty men 
Under my lead, a month might hold that castle 
Against a host. 

Rich. They do not strike till morning, 

Yet I will shift the quarter — Bid the grooms 
Prepare the litter — I will hence to Ruelle 
While daylight last — and one hour after midnight 
You and your twenty saints shall seek me thither ! 
You're made to rise ! — You are, sir ; — eyes of lynx, 
Ears of the stag, a footfall like the snow ; 
You are a valiant fellow ; — yea, a trusty, 
Eeligious, exemplary, incorrupt, 
And precious jewel of a fellow, Huguet ! 
If I live long enough, — ay, mark my words — 
If I live long enough, you'll be a Colonel — 
Noble, perhaps ! — One hour, sir, after midnight. 

Bug. You leave me dumb with gratitude, my Lord ; 
I'll pick the trustiest — [aside.] Marion's house can furnish ! 

[Exit Huguet. 

Rich. How like a spider shall I sit in my hole, 
And watch the meshes tremble. 

Joseph. But, my Lord, 

Were it not wiser still to man the palace, 
And seize the traitors in the act ? 

Rich. No ; Louis, 

Long chafed against me — Julie stolen from him, 
Will rouse him more. He'll say I hatch'd the treason, 
Or scout my charge : — He half desires my death ; 



,: U.J OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 235 

But the despatch to Bouillon, some dark scheme 
Against his crown — there is our weapon, Joseph ; 
AVith that, all safe — without it, all his peril ! 
Meanwhile to my old castle ; you to court, 
Diving with careless eyes into men's hearts, 
As ghostly churchmen should do ! See the King, 
Bid him peruse that sage and holy treatise, 
Wherein 'tis set forth how a Premier should 
Be chosen from the Priesthood — how the King 
Should never listen to a single charge 
Against his servant, nor conceal one whisper 
That the rank envies of a court distil 
Into his ear — to fester the fair name 
Of my — I mean his Minister ! — Oh ! Joseph; 
^A most convincing treatise.* 

Good — all favours, 
If Francois be but bold, and Huguet honest. 
Huguet — I half suspect — he bow'd too low — 
'lis not his way. 

Joseph. This is the curse, my Lord, 

Of your high state ; — suspicion of all men. 

Rich, [sadly]. True ; — true ; — my leeches bribed to 
poisoners ; — pages 
To strangle me in sleep.-^My very King 
(This brain the unresting loom, from which was woven 
The purple of his greatness) leagued against me. 

* This tract, on the "Unity of the Minister," contains all the 
doctrines, and many more to the same effect, referred to in the text, 
and had a prodigious influence on the conscience of the poor King. 
At the onset of his career, Richelieu, as deputy of the clergy of 
Poitou, complained in his harangue to the King that ecclesiastics 
were too rarely summoned to the royal councils, and invoked the 
example of the Druids. 



236 richelieu; [act n. 

Old — childless — friendless — broken — all forsake — 
All— all— but— 

Joseph. What 1 

Mich. The indomitable heart 

Of Armand Richelieu ! 

Joseph. Nought beside ? 

Rich. Wh}', Julie, 

My own dear foster-child, forgive me ; — yes ; 
This morning, shining through their happy tears, 
Thy soft eyes bless'd me ! — and thy Lord, — in danger, 
He would forsake me not. 

Joseph. And Joseph 

Rich, [after a pause.] You — ■ 

Yes, I believe you — yes — for all men fear you 
And the world loves you not. And I, friend Joseph, 
I am the only man who could, my Joseph, 
Make you a JBishop.* Come, we'll go to dinner, 
And talk the while of methods to advance 
Our Mother Church.t Ah, Joseph, — Bishop Joseph ! 

* Joseph's ambition was not, however, so moderate ; he refused 
a bishopric, and desired the cardinal's hat, for which favour Richelieu 
openly supplicated the Holy See, but contrived somehow or other 
never to effect it, although two ambassadors applied for it at Rome. 

f The peculiar religion of Pere Joseph may be illustrated by the 
following anecdote : — An officer, whom he had dismissed upon an 
expedition into Germany, moved by conscience at the orders he had 
received, returned for further explanations, and found the Capuchin 
disant sa messe. He approached and whispered, " But, my father, 
if these people defend themselves — " " Kill all" (Quon tue tout), 
answered the good father, continuing his devotions. 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 237 



ACT III. 
SECOND DAY (MIDNIGHT). 

SCENE I.— Eichelieu's Castle at Ruelle. A Gothic Chamber. 
Moonlight at the window, occasionally obscwed. 

Rich, [reading].* "In silence, and at night, the 
Conscience feels 
That life should soar to nobler ends than Power." 
So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist ! 
But wert thou tried 1 Sublime Philosophy, 
Thou art the Patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven, 
And bright with beck'ning angels — but, alas ! 
We see thee, like the Patriarch, but in dreams, 
By the first step — dull-slumbering on the earth. 
I am not happy ! — with the Titan's lust 
I woo'd a goddess, and I clasp a cloud. 
When I am dust, my name shall, like a star, 
Shine through wan space, a glory — and a prophet 

* I need not say that the great length of this soliloquy adapts it 
only for the closet, and that but few of the lines are retained on the 
stage. To the reader, however, the passages omitted in representa- 
tion will not, perhaps be the most uninteresting in the play, and 
may be deemed necessary to the completion of the Cardinal's 
portrait, — action on the stage supplying so subtly the place of words 
in the closet. The self-assured sophistries which, in the text, mingle 
with Eichelieu's better-founded arguments, in apology for the darker 
traits of his character, are to be found scattered throughout the 
writings ascribed to him. The reader will observe that in this self- 
confession lies the latent poetical justice, which separates happiness 
from success. 



238 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 

Whereby pale seers shall from their aery towers 
Con all the ominous signs, benign or evil, 
That make the potent astrologue of kings. 
But shall the Future judge me by the ends 
That I have wrought — or by the dubious means 
Through which the stream of my renown hath run 
Into the many-voiced unfathom'd Time 1 
Foul in its bed lie weeds — and heaps of slime, 
And with its waves — when sparkling in the sun, 
Ofttimes the secret rivulets that swell 
Its might of waters— blend the hues of blood. 
Yet are my sins not those of circumstance, 
That all-pervading atmosphere, wherein 
Our spirits, like the unsteady lizard, take 
The tints that colour, and the food that nurtures ? 
* O ! ye, whose hour-glass shifts its tranquil sands 
In the unvex'd silence of a student's cell ; 
Ye, whose untempted hearts have never toss'd 
Upon the dark and stormy tides where life 
Gives battle to the elements, — and man 
Wrestles with man for some slight plank, whose weight 
Will bear but one — while round the desperate wretch 
The hungry billows roar — and the fierce Fate, 
Like some huge monster, dim-seen through the surf, 
Waits him who drops ; — ye safe and formal men, 
Who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand 
Weigh in nice scales the motives of the Great, 
Ye cannot know what ye have never tried I 
History preserves only the fleshless bones 
Of what we are — and by the mocking skull 
The would-be wise pretend to guess the features 1 
* Retained in representation. 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 239 

Without the roundness and the glow of life 
How hideous is the skeleton ! Without 
The colourings and humanities that clothe 
Our errors, the anatomists of schools 
Can make our memory hideous ! 

I have wrought 
Great uses out of evil tools — and they 
In the time to come may bask beneath the light 
"Which I have stolen from the angry gods, 
And warn their sons against the glorious theft, 
Forgetful of the darkness which it broke. 
I have shed blood — but I have had no foes 
Save those the State had * — if my wrath was deadly, 
'Tis that I felt my country in my veins, 
And smote her sons as Brutus smote his own.t 
And yet I am not happy — blanch'd and sear'd 
Before my time — breathing an air of hate, 
And seeing daggers in the eyes of men, 
And wasting powers that shake the thrones of earth 
In contest \vith the insects — bearding kings 
And braved by lackies X — murder at my bed ; 
And lone amidst the multitudinous web, 

* It is well known that wheD, on his death-bed, Richelieu was 
asked if he forgave his enemies ; he replied, " I never had any, hut 
those of the State." And this was true enough, for Richelieu and 
the State were one. 

t Richelieu's vindication of himself from cruelty will be found in 
various parts of Petitot's Collection, vols. xxi. xxx. (bis). 

t Voltaire has a striking passage on the singular fate of Richelieu, 
recalled every hour from his gigantic schemes to frustrate some 
miserable cabal of the ante-room. Richelieu would often exclaim, 
that " Six pieds de terre," as he called the king's cabinet, " lui don- 
naient plus de peine que tout le reste de l'Europe." The death of 



240 RICHELIEU ; [ACT III. 

With the dread Three — that are the Fates who hold 
The woof and shears — the Monk, the Spy, the Headsman. 
And this is power 1 Alas ! I am not happy. 

[After a pause. 
And yet the Nile is fretted by the weeds 
Its rising roots not up ; but never yet 
Did one least barrier by a ripple vex 
My onward tide, un swept in sport away. 
Am I so ruthless then that I do hate 
Them who bate me ? Tush, tush ! I do not hate ; 
Nay, I forgive. The Statesman writes the doom, 
But the Priest sends the blessing. I forgive them, 
But I destroy ; forgiveness is mine own, 
Destruction is the State's ! For private life, 
Scripture the guide — for public, Machiavel. 
Would fortune serve me if the Heaven were wroth 1 
For chance makes half my greatness. I was born 
Beneath the aspect of a bright-eyed star, 
And my triumphant adamant of soul 
Is but the fix'd persuasion of success. 
Ah ! — here ! — that spasm ! — again! — How Life and Death 
Do wrestle for me momently ! And yet 

Wallenstein, sacrificed by the Emperor Ferdinand, produced a most 
lively impression upon Richelieu. He found many traits of com- 
parison between Ferdinand and Louis — Wallenstein and himself. 
In the Memoirs — now regarded by the best authorities as written by 
his sanction, and in great part by himself — the great Frenchman 
bursts (when alluding to Wallenstein 's murder) into a touching and 
pathetic anathema on the misdre de cette vie of dependence on jealous 
and timid royalty, which he himself, while he wrote, sustained. It 
is worthy of remark, that it was precisely at the period of Wallen- 
stein's death that Richelieu obtained from the king an augmentation 
of his guard. 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 241 

The King looks pale. I shall outlive the King ! 

And then, thou insolent Austrian — who didst gibe 

At the ungainly, gaunt, and daring lover,* 

Sleeking thy looks to silken Buckingham, — 

Thou shalt — no matter ! — I have outlived love. 

O ! beautiful — all golden — gentle youth ! 

Making thy palace in the careless front 

And hopeful eye of man — ere yet the soul 

Hath lost the memories which (so Plato dream'd) 

Breathed glory from the earlier star it dwelt in — 

Oh ! for one gale from thine exulting morning, 

Stirring amidst the roses, where of old 

Love shook the dew-drops from his glancing hair 1 

Could I recall the past — or had not set 

The prodigal treasures of the bankrupt soul 

In one slight bark upon the shoreless sea ; 

The yoked steer, after his day of toil, 

Forgets the goad, and rests — to me alike 

Or day or night — Ambition has no rest ! 

Shall I resign 1 — who can resign himself? 

For custom is ourself ; as drink and food 

Become our bone and flesh — the aliments 

Nurturing our nobler part, the mind — thoughts, dreams, 

Passions, and aims, in the revolving cycle 

Of the great alchemy — at length are made 

Our mind itself ; and yet the sweets of leisure — 

An honour'd home — far from these base intrigues — 

* Richelieu was commonly supposed, though I cannot say I find 
much evidence for it, to have been too presuming in an interview 
with Anne of Austria (the Queen), and to have bitterly resented the 
contempt she expressed for him. The Duke of Buckingham's frantic 
and Quixotic passion for the Queen is well known. 

R 



242 RICHELIEU ; [ACT III. 

An eyrie on the heaven-kiss'd heights of wisdom — 

[Taking up the book 
Speak to me, moralist ! — 1*11 heed thy counsel. 
Were it not best 

Enter Pranqois hastily, and in part disguised. 

Rich, [flinging away the booJc\. Philosophy, thou liest ! 
Quick — the despatch ! Power — Empire ! Boy — the 
packet ! 

Fran. Kill me, my Lord. 

Rich. They knew thee — they suspected — 

They gave it not 

Fran. He gave it — he — the Count 

De Baradas — with his own hand he gave it ! 

Rich. Baradas ! Joy ! out with it ! 

Fran. Listen, 

And then dismiss me to the headsman. 

Rich. Ha ! 

Go on. 

Fran. They led me to a chamber — There 
Orleans and Baradas, and some half-score, 
Whom I know not — were met 

Rich. Not more ! 

Fran. But from 

The adjoining chamber broke the din of voices, 
The clattering tread of arm'd men ; at times 
A shriller cry, that yell'd out, ° Death to Richelieu ! " 

Rich. Speak not of me : thy country is in danger ! 
The adjoining room — So, so — a separate treason ! 
The one thy ruin, France ! — the meaner crime, 
Left to their tools, my murder ! 

Fran. Baradas 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 243 

Question'd me close — demurr'd — until, at last, 
O'erruled by Orleans, — gave the packet — told me 
That life and death were in the scroll — this gold 

Itich. Gold is no proof 

Fran. And Orleans promised thousands, 

"When Bouillon's trumpets in the streets of Paris 
Rang out shrill answer. Hastening from the house, 
My footstep in the stirrup, Marion stole 
Across the threshold, whispering, " Lose no moment 
Ere Richelieu have the packet : tell him too — 
Murder is in the winds of Night, and Orleans 
Swears, ere the dawn the Cardinal shall be clay." 
She said, and trembling fled within ; when, lo ! 
A hand of iron griped me \ through the dark 
Gleam' d the dim shadow of an arm'd man : 
Ere I could draw — the prize was wrested from me, 
And a hoarse voice gasp'd — " Spy, I spare thee, for 
This steel is virgin to thy Lord ! " with that 
He vanish 'd — Scared and trembling for thy safety 
I mounted, fled, and, kneeling at thy feet, 
Implore thee to acquit my faith — but not, 
Like him, to spare my life. 

Rich. Who spake of life ? 

I bade thee grasp that treasure as thine honour — 
A jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives ! 
Begone ! — redeem thine honour — back to Marion — 
Or Baradas — or Orleans — track the robber — 
Regain the packet — or crawl on to Age — 
Age and grey hairs like mine — and know, thou hast 

lost 
That which had made thee great and saved thy country. — 
See me not till thou'st bought the light to seek mc. — 



244 RICHELIEU ; [ACT III 

Away ! — Nay, cheer thee, thou hast not fail'd yet, — 
There s no such word as "/ail ! " 

Fran. Bless you, my Lord, 

For that one smile ! — I'll wear it on my heart 
To light me back to triumph.* [Exit 

Rich. The poor youth ! 

An elder had ask'd life ! — I love the young ! 
For as great men live not in their own time, 
But the next race, — so in the young, my soul 
Makes many Richelieus. He will win it yet. 
Francois ! — He's gone. My murder ! Marion's warning ! 
This bravo's threat ! Oh for the morrow's dawn ! 
I'll set my spies to work — I'll make all space 
(As does the sun) a Universal Eye — 
Huguet shall track — Joseph confess — ha ! ha ! 
Strange, while I laugh'd I shudder'd — and ev'n now 
Through the chill air the beating of my heart 
Sounds like a death-watch by a sick man's pillow ; 
If Huguet could deceive me — hoofs without — 
The gates unclose — steps near and nearer ! 

Enter Julie. 

Julie. Cardinal ! 

My father ! [Falls at hisjeet. 

Rich. Julie at this hour ! — and tears ! 
What ails thee 1 

* The fear and the hatred which Richelieu generally inspired 
were not shared by his dependents and those about his person, who 
are said "to have adored him." — " Ses domestiques le regardaient 
comme le meilleur des maltres." — Le Clerc. In fact, although " il 
etoit orgueilleux et colere," — he was, "en mime temps, affable et plein 
de douceur dans I'abord ; " and he was no less generous to those who 
served than severe to those who opposed him. 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 245 

Julie. I am safe ; I am with thee ! — 

Rich. Safe ! why in all the storms of this wide world 
What wind would mar the violet ? 

Julie. That man — 

Why did I love him 1 — clinging to a breast 
That knows no shelter ? 

Listen — late at noon — 
The marriage-day — ev'n then no more a lover — 
He left me coldly, — well, — I sought my chamber 
To weep and wonder — but to hope and dream. 
Sudden a mandate from the King — to attend 
Forthwith his pleasure at the Louvre. 

Rich. Ha ! 

You did obey the summons ; and the King 
Reproach'd your hasty nuptials. 

Julie. Were that all ! 

He frown'd and chid ; proclaim'd the bond unlawful : 
Bade me not quit my chamber in the palace, 
And there at night — alone — this night — all still — 
He sought my presence — dared — thou read'st the heart, 
Read mine ! — I cannot speak it ! 

Rich. He a king, — 

You — woman ; well, — you yielded ! 

Julie. Cardinal — 

Dare you say " yielded ] " — Humbled and abash'd, 
He from the chamber crept — this mighty Louis ; 
Crept like a baffled felon ! — yielded ! Ah ! 
More royalty in woman's honest heart 
Than dwells within the crown'd majesty 
And sceptred anger of a hundred kings ! 
Yielded ! — Heavens ! — yielded ! 

Rich. To my breast, — close — close ! 



246 eichelieu ; [act iil 

The world would never need a Richelieu, if 

Men — bearded, mail'd men — the Lords of Earth — 

Resisted flattery, falsehood, avarice, pride, 

As this poor child with the dove's innocent scorn 

Her sex's tempters, Vanity and Power ! — 

He left you — well ! 

Julie. Then came a sharper trial ! 

At the King's suit the Count de Bara.das 
Sought me to soothe, to fawn, to flatter, while 
On his smooth lip insult appear'd more hateful 
For the false mask of pity : letting fall 
Dark hints of treachery, with a world of sighs 
That Heaven had granted to so base a Lord 
The heart whose coldest friendship were to him 
What Mexico to misers ! Stung at last 
By my disdain, the dim and glimmering sense 
Of his cloak'd words broke into bolder light, 
And then — ah ! then, my haughty spirit fail'd me I 
Then I was weak — wept — oh ! such bitter tears ! 
For (turn thy face aside and let me whisper 
The horror to thine ear) then did I learn 
That he — that Adrien — that my husband — knew 
The King's polluting suit, and deem'd it honour ! 
Then all the terrible and loathsome truth 
Glared on me ; — coldness — waywardness, reserve — 
Mystery of looks — words — all unravell'd, — and 
I saw the impostor, where I had loved the god ! 

Rich. I think thou wrong'st thy husband — but proceed. 

Julie. Did you say " wrong'd" him 1 — Cardinal, my father, 
Did you say " wrong'd % " Prove it, and life shall grow 
One prayer for thy reward and his forgiveness. 

Rich. Let me know alL 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 24T 

Julie. To the despair he caused 

The courtier left me ; but amid the chaos 
Darted one guiding ray — to 'scape — to fly — 
Reach Adrien, learn the worst — 'twas then near midnight : 
Trembling I left my chamber — sought the Queen — 
Fell at her feet — reveal'd the unholy peril — 
Implored her aid to flee our joint disgrace. 
Moved, she embraced and soothed me ; nay, preserved ; 
Her word sufficed to unlock the palace-gates : 
I hasten'd home — but home was desolate, — 
No Adrien there ! Fearing the worst, I fled 
To thee, directed hither. As my wheels 
Paused at thy gates — the clang of arms behind — 
The ring of hoofs — 

Rich. 'Twas but my guards, fair trembler. 

(So Huguet keeps his word, my omens wrong'd him.) 

Julie. Ob, in one hour what years of anguish crowd ! 

Rich. Nay, there's no danger now. Thou needest rest. 
Come, thou shalt lodge beside me. Tush ! be cheer'd. 
My rosiest Amazon — thou wrong'st thy Theseus. 
All will be well — yes, yet all well. 

[Exeimt through a side door. 



SCENE II. 

Enter Huguet — De Mauprat, in complete armour, his vizor dovm. 
The moonlight obscured at the casement. 

Hug. Not here ! 

De Mau. Oh, I will find him, fear not. Hence and 
guard 
The galleries where the menials sleep — plant sentries 



248 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 

At every outlet — Chance should throw no shadow- 
Between the vengeance and the victim ! Go ! — 
Ere yon brief vapour that obscures the moon, 
As doth our deed pale conscience, pass away, 
The mighty shall be ashes. 

Hug. Will you not 

A second arm ? 

De Mau. To slay one weak old man 1 — 

Away ! No lesser wrongs than mine can make 
This murder lawful. Hence ! 

Hug. A short farewell ! 

[Exit Huguet. 

Re-enter Richelieu [not perceiving De Mauprat]. 

Rich. How heavy is the air ! — the vestal lamp 
Of the sad Moon, weary with vigil, dies 
In the still temple of the solemn heaven ! 
The very darkness lends itself to fear — 
To treason 

De Mau. And to death ! 

Rich. My omens lied not ! 

"What art thou, wretch ? 

De Mau. Thy doomsman ! 

Rich. Ho, my guards ! 

Huguet ! Montbrassil ! Vermont ! 

De Mau. Ay, thy spirits 

Forsake thee, wizard ; thy bold men of mail 
Are my confederates. Stir not ! but one step, 
And know the next — thy grave ! 

Rich. Thou liest, knave ! 

I am old, infirm — most feeble — but thou liest ! 
Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 249 

Of man — the stars have said it * — and the voice 

Of my own prophet and oracular soul 

Confirms the shining Sibyls ! Call them all 

Thy brother butchers ! Earth has no such fiend — 

No ! as one parricide of his father-land, 

Who dares in Richelieu murder France S 

Be Mau. Thy stars 

Deceive thee, Cardinal ; thy soul of wiles 
May against kings and armaments avail, 
And mock the embattled world ; but powerless now 
Against the sword of one resolved man, 
Upon whose forehead thou hast written shame ! 

Rich. I breathe ; he is not a hireling. Have I wrang'd 
thee? 
Beware surmise — suspicion — lies ! I am 
Too great for men to speak the truth of me ! 

Be JIau. Thy acts are thy accusers, Cardinal ! 
In his hot youth, a soldier, urged to crime 
Against the State, placed in your hands his life ; — 
You did not strike the blow — but o'er his head, 
Upon the gossamer thread of your caprice, 
Hover'd the axe. His the brave spirit's hell, 
The twilight terror of suspense ; — your death 
Had set him free ; he purposed not, nor pray'd it. 
One day you summon'd — mock'd him with smooth 

pardon — 
Shower'd wealth upon him — bade an angel's face 
Turn Earth to Paradise 

Rich. Well ! 

* In common with his contemporaries, Richelieu was credulous 
in astrology and less lawful arts. He was too fortunate a man not 
to be superstitious. 



250 RICHELIEU ; [ACT III. 

De 21 au. Was this mercy ? 

A Caesar's generous vengeance 1 — Cardinal, no ! 
Judas, not Cassar, was the model ! You 
Saved him from death for shame ; reserved to grow 
The scorn of living men — to his dead sires 
Leprous reproach — scoff of the age to come — 
A kind convenience — a Sir Pandarus 
To his own bride, and the august adulterer ! 
Then did the first great law of human hearts, 
Which with the patriot's, not the rebel's, name 
Crown'd the first Brutus, when the Tarquin fell, 
Make Misery royal — raise this desperate wretch 
Into thy destiny ! Expect no mercy ! 
Behold De Mauprat ! [Lifts his vizor. 

Rich. To thy knees, and crawl 

For pardon ; or, I tell thee, thou shalt live 
For such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I 
Would bid thee strike, that I might be avenged ! 
It was to save my Julie from the King, 
That in thy valour I forgave thy crime ; — 
It was, when thou — the rash and ready tool — 
Yea, of that shame thou loath'st — didst leave thy hearth 
To the polluter — in these arms thy bride 
Found the protecting shelter thine withheld. 

[Goes to the side door. 
Julie de Mauprat — Julie ! 

Enter Julie. 

Lo ! my witness ! 
De Mau. What marvel's this ? — I dream ! my Julie— 
thou ! 
This, thy beloved hand ? 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 251 

Julie. Henceforth all bond 

Between us twain is broken. Were it not 
For this old man, I might, in truth, have lost 
The right — now mine — to scorn thee ! 

Rich. So, you hear her 1 

Be Ifau. Thou with some slander hast her sense in- 
fected ! 

Julie. No, sir ; he did excuse thee in despite 
Of all that wears the face of truth. Thy friend — 
Thy confidant — familiar — Baradas — 
Himself reveal'd thy baseness. 

Be 2fau. Baseness ! 

Rich. Ay ; 

That thou didst court dishonour. 

Be Mem. Baradas ! 

Where is thy thunder, Heaven 1 — Duped ! — snared ! — 

undone ! 
Thou — thou couldst not believe him ! Thou dost love me ! 
Love cannot feed upon falsehoods ! 

Julie [aside]. Love him ! — Ah ! 

Be still, my heart ! [Aloud.] Love you I did : — how 

fondly, 
Woman — if women were my listeners now — 
Alone could tell ! — For ever fled my dream : 
Farewell — all's over ! 

Rich. Nay, my daughter, these 

Are but the blinding mists of day-break love 
Sprung from its very light, and heralding 
A noon of happy summer. — Take her hand 
And speak the truth, with which your heart runa 

over — 
That this Count Judas — this Incarnate Falsehood — 



252 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 

Never lied more, than when he told thy Julie 
That Adrien loved her not — except, indeed, 
When ho told Adrien, Julie could betray him. 

Julie [embracing De Mauprat]. You love me, then ! — 
you love me ! — and they wrong'd you ! 

De Mau. Ah ! couldst thou doubt it ? 

Rich. Why, the very mole 

Less blind than thou ! Baradas loves thy wife ; — 
Had hoped her hand — aspired to be that cloak 
To the King's will, which to thy bluntness seems 
The Centaur's poisonous robe — hopes even now 
To make thy corpse his footstool to thy bed ! 
Where was thy wit, man 1 — Ho ! these schemes are 

glass ! 
The very sun shines through them. 

De Mau. O, my Lord. 

Can you forgive me 1 

Rich. Ay, and save you ! 

De Mau. Save ! — 

Terrible word ! — O, save thyself; — these halls 
Swarm with thy foes : already for thy blood 
Pants thirsty Murder ! 

Julie. Murder ! 

Rich. Hush ! put by 

The woman. Hush ! a shriek — a cry — a breath 
Too loud, would startle from its horrent pause 
The swooping Death ! Go to the door, and listen ! — 
Now for escape ! 

De Mau. None — none ! Their blades shall pass 

This heart to thine. 

Rich, [drily]. An honourable outwork 

But much too near the citadel. I think 



SCENE III. J OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 253 

That I can trust you now [slowly, and gazing on hhii\ : — 

yes ; I can trust you. 
How many of my troop league with you ? 

Be Mau. All !— 

We are your troop ! 

Rich. And Huguet ? 

Be Mau. Is our captain. 

Rich. A retributive Power ! — This comes of spies ! 
All 1 then the lion's skin 's too short to-night, — 
Now for the fox's ! 

Julie. A hoarse, gathering murmur ! — 

Hurrying and heavy footsteps ! 

Rich. Ha ! — the posterns % 

Be Mau. No egress where no sentry ! 

Rich. Follow me — 

I have it ! — to my chamber — quick I Come, Julie ! 
Hush ! Mauprat, come ! 

[Murmur at a distance."] — Death to the Cardinal ! 

Rich. Bloodhounds, I laugh at ye ! — ha ! ha ! — we will 
Baffle them yet.— Ha !— ha ! 

[Exeunt Julie, Mauprat, Kichelieu, 

Hug. [uritliout]. This way — this way ! 



SCENE III. 

Enter Huguet and the Conspirators. 

Hug. De Mauprat's hand is never slow in battle ;— 
Strange, if it falter now ! Ha ! gone ! 

First Con. Perchance 



254 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 

The fox had crept to rest ; and to his lair 
Death, the dark hunter, tracks him. 

[Enter Mauprat, throwing open the doors of the recess, in 
which a bed, whereon Richelieu lies extended. 

l)e Mau. Live the King ! 

Richelieu is dead ! 

Hug. [advancing towards the recess ; Mauprat following, 
his hand on his dagger]. Are his eyes open ? 

Be Mau. A.j, 

As if in life ! 

Hug. [turning back], I will not look on him. 
You have been long. 

Be Mau. I watch'd him till he slept. 

Heed me. — No trace of blood reveals the deed ; — 
Strangled in sleep. His health hath long been broken — 
Found breathless in his bed. So runs our tale, 
Remember ! Eack to Paris — Orleans gives 
Ten thousand crowns, and Baradas a lordship, 
To him who first gluts vengeance with the news 
That Richelieu is in heaven ! Quick, that all France 
May share your joy ! 

Hug. And you 1 

He Mau. Will stay, to crush 

Eager suspicion — to forbid sharp eyes 
To dwell too closely on the clay ; prepare 
The rites, and place him on his bier — this my task. 
I leave to you, sirs, the more grateful lot 
Of wealth and honours. Hence ! 

Hug. I shall be noble ! 

He Mau. Away ! 

First Con. Five thousand crowns ! 

Omnes. To horse !— to horse ! [Exeunt Conspirators. 



SCENE IV.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY j 255 



SCENE IV. 

Still night — A room in the home of CoutNT de Babadas, lighted, <kc. 
Orleans and De Beringhen. 

De Ber. I understand. Mauprat kept guard without : 
Knows nought of the despatch — but heads the troop 
Whom the poor Cardinal fancies his protectors. 
Save us from such protection ! 

Orle. Yet, if Huguet, 

By whose advice and proffers we renounced 
Our earlier scheme, should still be Richelieu's minion, 
And play us false — 

De Ber. The fox must then devour 

The geese he gripes (I'm out of it, thank Heaven !) 
And you must swear you smelt the trick, but seem'd 
To approve the deed — to render up the doers. 

Enter Baradas. 

Bar. Julie is fled : — the King, whom now I left 
To a most thorny pillow, vows revenge 
On her — on Mauprat — and on Richelieu ! "Well ; 
We loyal men anticipate his wish 
Upon the last — and as for Mauprat, — [Shoiving a writ. 

De Ber. Hum ! 

They say the devil invented printing ! Faith, 
He has some hand in writing parchment — eh. Count ? 
What mischief now ? 



256 RICHELIEU j [ACT III. 

Bar. The King, at Julie's flight 

Enraged, will brook no rival in a subject — 
So on this old offence — the affair of Faviaux — 
Ere Mauprat can tell tales of us, we build 
His bridge between the dungeon and the grave. 

Orle. Well ; if our courier can but reach the army. 
The cards are ours ! — and yet, I own, I tremble. 
Our names are in the scroll — discovery, death ! 

Bar. Success, a crown ! 

De Ber. [apart to Baradas]. Our future Regent is 
No hero. 

Bar. [to De Beringhen]. But his rank makes others 
valiant ; 
And on his cowardice I mount to power. 
"Were Orleans Regent — what were Baradas ? 
Oh ! by the way — I had forgot, your Highness, 
Friend Huguet whisper'd me, " Beware of Marion : 
I've seen her lurking near the Cardinal's palace." 
Upon that hint, I've found her lodging elsewhere. 

Orle. You wrong her, Count. Poor Marion ! — she 
adores me. 

Bar. [apologetically]. Forgive me, but — 

Enter Page. 

Page. My Lord, a rude, strange soldier, 

Breathless with haste, demands an audience. 

Bar. So ! — 

The archers ? 

Page. In the ante-room, my Lord, 

As you desired. 

Bar. 'Tis well — admit the soldier. [Exit Page. 

Huguet ! — I bade him seek me here. 



SCENE IV.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 257 

Enter Huguet. 

Hug. My Lords, 

The deed is done. Now, Count, fulfil your word, 
And make me noble ! 

Bar. Richelieu dead 1 — art sure ? 

How died he ? 

Hug. Strangled in his sleep : — no blood, 

No tell-tale violence. 

Bar. Strangled ? — monstrous villain ! 

Reward for murder ! Ho, there ! [Stamping. 

Enter Captain with five Archers. 

Hug. No, thou durst not I 

Bar. Seize on the ruffian — bind him — gag him ! Off 
To the Bastile ! 

Hug. Your word — your plighted faith ! 

Bar. Insolent liar ! ho, away ! 

Hug. Nay, Count ; 

I have that about me, which 

Bar. Away with him ! 

[Exeunt Huguet and Archers. 
Now, then, all's safe ; Huguet must die in prison, 
So Mauprat : — coax or force the meaner crew 
To fly the country. Ha, ha ! thus, your highness, 
Great men make use of little men. 

Be Ber. My Lords, 

Since our suspense is ended — you'll excuse me ; 
'Tis late — and, entre nous, I have not supp'd yet I 
I'm one of the new Council now, remember ; 
I feel the public stirring here already ; 
A very craving monster. Au revoir ! 

[Exit De Bkringhen; 



258 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 

Orle. No fear, now Richelieu's dead. 

Bar. And could he come 

To life again, he could not keep life's life — 
His power, — nor save De Mauprat from the scaffold, — 
Nor Julie from these arms — nor Paris from 
The Spaniard — nor your highness from the throne ! 
All ours ! all ours ! in spite of my Lord Cardinal ! 

Enter Page. 

Page. A gentleman, my Lord, of better mien 
Than he who last 

Bar. Well, he may enter. [Exit Page 

Orle. Who 

Can this be ? 

Bar. Oue of the conspirators : 

Mauprat himself, perhaps. 

Enter Francois. 

Fran. My Lord 

Bar. Ha, traitor ! 

In Paris still 1 

Fran. The packet — the despatch — 

Some knave play'd spy without, and reft it from me, 
Ere I could draw my sword. 

Bar. Play'd spy without / 

Did he wear armour ? 

Fran. Ay, from head to heel. 

Orle. One of our band. Oh, Heavens ! 

Bar. Could it be Mauprat 1 

Kept guard at the door — knew nought of the despatch — 
How he ? — and yet, who other 1 

Fran. Ha, De Mauprat i 

The night was dark — his vizor closed. 



SCENE IV.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 259 

Bar. 'Twas he ! 

How could he guess 1 — 'sdeath ! if he should betray us. 
His hate to Bichelieu dies with Richelieu — and 
He was not great enough for treason. Hence ! 
Find Mauprat — beg, steal, filch, or force it back, 
Or, as I live, the halter 

Fran. By the morrow 

I will regain it [aside], and redeem my honour ! 

[Eotit Francois. 

Orle. Oh, we are lost — 

Bar. Not so ! But cause on cause 

For Mauprat's seizure — silence — death ! Take courage. 

Orle. Should it once reach the King, the Cardinal's arm 
Could smite us from the grave. 

Bar. Sir, think it not ! 

1 hold De Mauprat in my grasp. To-morrow, 
And France is ours ! Thou dark and fallen Angel, 
"Whose name on earth's Ambition — thou that mak'st 
Thy throne on treasons, stratagems, and murder, — 
And with thy fierce and blood-red smile canst quench 
The guiding stars of solemn empire — hear us 
(For we are thine) — and light us to the goal ! 



260 RICHELIEU ; [act IV. 



ACT IT. 



THIRD DAY. 



SCENE I. — The Gardens of the Louvre. — Orleans, "Baradas, 
De Beringhen, Courtiers, &c. 

Orle. How does my brother bear the Cardinal's death ? 

Bar. With grief, when thinking of the toils of State ; 
"With joy, when thinking on the eyes of Julie : — 
At times- he sighs, " Who now shall govern France ? " 
Anon exclaims — " Who now shall baffle Louis 1 " 
Enter Louis and other Courtiers. [They uncover.] 

Orle. Now, my liege, now, J can embrace a brother. 

Louis. Dear Gaston, yes. — ] do believe you love me ; — 
Richelieu denied it — sever'd us too long. 
A great man, Gaston ! Who shall govern France 1 

Bar. Yourself, my liege. That swart and potent star- 
Eclipsed your vojdl orb. He served the country, 
But did he serve, or seek to sway the King ? 

[Louis. You're right — he was an able politician — 
That's all : — between ourselves, Count, I suspect 
The largeness of his learning — specially 
In falcons * — a poor huntsman, too ! 

* Louis XIII. is said to have possessed some natural talents, and 
in earlier youth to have exhibited the germs of noble qualities ; but 
a blight seems to have passed over his maturer life. Personally 
brave, but morally timid, — always governed, whether by his mother 
or his minister, and always repining at the yoke. The only affection 
amounting to a passion that he betrayed was for the sports of the 
field ; yet it was his craving weakness (and this throws a kind of 
false interest over his character') to wish to be loved. He himself 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 261 

Bar. Ha — ha ! 

Your Majesty remembers 

Louis. Ay, the blunder 

Between the greffier and the souillard when — 

[Checks and crosses himself. 
Alas ! poor sinners that we are ! we laugh 
While this great man — a priest, a cardinal, 
A faithful servant — out upon us ! — 

Bar. Sire, 

If my brow wear no cloud, 'tis that the Cardinal 
No longer shades the King. 

Louis [looking up at the skies']. Oh, Baradas ! 
Am I not to be pitied ? — what a day 
For— 

Bar. Sorrow ? — No, sire ! 

Louis. Bah ! for hunting, man, 

And Bichelieu's dead ; 'twould be an indecorum 
Till he is buried — [yawns'] — life is very tedious. 
I made a madrigal on life last week : 
You do not sing,* Count 1 — Pity ; you should learn. 



loved no one. He suffered the only woman who seems to have been 
attached to him to wither in a convent ; — he gave up favourite after 
favourite to exile or the block. When Richelieu died, he said 
coldly, " Voila un grand politique mort ! " and when the ill-fated 
but unprincipled Cinq Mars, whom he called "le c7ier ami," was 
beheaded, he drew out his watch at the fatal hour, and said with a 
smile, " I think at this, moment that le cher ami fait une vilaine 
mine." Nevertheless, his conscience at times (for he was devout 
and superstitious) made him gentle, and his pride and honour would 
often, when least expected, rouse him into haughty but brief 
resistance to the despotism under which he lived. 

* Louis had some musical taste and accomplishment, wherewith 
he often communicated to his favourites some of that wearisome 
ennui under which he himself almost unceasingly languished. 



-6*2 RICHELIEU ; [act IV. 

Poor Richelieu had no ear — yet a great man. 
Ah ! what a weary weight devolves upon me ! 
These endless wars — these thankless Parliaments — 
The snares in which he tangled States and Kings, 
Like the old fisher of the fable, Proteus, 
Netting great Neptune's wariest tribes, and changing 
Into all shapes when Craft pursued himself : 
Oh, a great man ! 

Bar. Your royal mother said so, 

And died in exile. 

Louis [sadly]. True : I loved my mother.* 
Bar. The Cardinal dies. — Yet day revives the 
earth ; 
The rivers run not back. In truth, my liege, 
Did your high orb on others shine as him, 
Why, things as dull in their own selves as I am 
Would glow as brightly with the borrow'd beam.t 

* One of Louis's most bitter complaints against Richelieu was thi 
continued banishment of the Queen Mother. It is impossible, 
however, not to be convinced that the return of that most worthless 
intriguante was wholly incompatible with the tranquillity of the 
kingdom. Yet, on the other hand, the poverty and privation which 
she endured in exile are discreditable to the generosity and the 
gratitude of Kichelieu ; she was his first patron, though afterwards 
his most powerful persecutor. 

f In his Memoirs, Richelieu gives an amusing account of the 
insolence and arts of Baradas, and observes, with indignant astonish- 
ment, that the favourite was never weary of repeating to the King 
that he (Baradas) would have made just as great a minister as 
Richelieu. It is on the attachment of Baradas to La Cressias, a maid 
of honour to the Queen Mother, of whom, according to Baradas, the 
King was enamoured also, that his love for the Julie de Mortemar of 
the play has been founded. The secret of Baradas's sudden and 
exti'aordinary influence with the King seems to rest in the personal 



SCENE I.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 263 

Louis. Ahem ! — He was too stern. 

Orle. A very Nero. 

Bar. His power was like the Capitol of old — 
Built on a human skull. 

Louis. And, had he lived, 

I know another head, my Baradas, 

That would have propp'd the pile : I've seen him eye thee 
"With a most hungry fancy. 

Bar. [anxiously]. Sire, I knew 

You would protect me. 

Louis. Did you so 1 of course ! 

And yet he had a way with him — a something 

That always But no matter — he is dead. 

And, after all, men call his King "The Just," * 
And so I am. Dear Count, this silliest Julie, 
I know not why, she takes my fancy. Many 
As fair, and certainly more kind ; but yet 
It is so. Count, I am no lustful Tarquin, 
And do abhor the bold and frontless vices 
Which the Church justly censures ; yet, 'tis sad 
On rainy days to drag out weary hours t — 
Deaf to the music of a woman's voice — 
Blind to the sunshine of a woman's eyes. 

adoration which he professed for Louis, with whom he affected all 
the jealousy of a lover, but whom he flattered with the ardent 
chivalry of a kuight. Even after his disgrace he placed upon his 
banner, "Fiat voluntas tua." 

* Louis was called The Just, but for no other reason than that 
he was born under the Libra. 

t Louis XIII. did not resemble either his father or his son in the 
ardour of his attachments ; if not wholly platonic, they were wholly 
unimpassioned : yet no man was more jealous, or more unscrupu- 
lously tyrannical when the jealousy was aroused. 



264 RICHELIEU j [ACT IV. 

It is no sin in Kings to seek amusement ; 
And that is all I seek. I miss her much- 
She has a silver laugh — a rare perfection. 

Bar. Richelieu was most disloyal in that marriage.] 

Louis [querulously]. He knew that Julie pleased me : — 
a clear proof 
He never loved me ! 

Bar. Oh, most clear ! — But now 

No bar between the lady and your will ! 
This writ makes all secure : a week or two 
In the Bastile will sober Mauprat's love, 
And leave him eager to dissolve a hymen 
That brings him such a home. 

Louis. See to it, Count. 

[Exit Baradas. 
I'll summon Julie back. A word with you. 

[Takes aside First Courtier, and De Beringhen, and passes, 
conversing with them, through the Gardens. 

Enter Francois. 

Fran. All search, as yet, in vain for Mauprat ! — Not 
At home since yesternoon — a soldier told me 
He saw him pass this way with hasty strides ; 
Should he meet Baradas — they'd rend it from him — 
And then — benignant Fortune smiles upon me — 
I am thy son ! — if thou desert'st me now, 
Come, Death, and snatch me from disgrace. But, no, 
There's a great Spirit ever in the air 
That from prolific and far- spreading wings 
Scatters the seeds of honour — yea, the walls 
And moats of castled forts — the barren seas — 
The cell wherein the pale-eyed student holds 



SCENE I.J OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 265 

Talk with melodious science — all are sown 
With everlasting honours, if our souls 
Will toil for fame as boors for bread — 

Enter Mauprat. 

Be Man. Oh, let mc — 

Let me but meet him foot to foot — I'll dig 
The Judas from his heart ; — albeit the King 
Should o'er him cast the purple ! 

Fran. Mauprat ! hold : — 

Where is the 

Be Mau. Well ! What wouldst thou 1 

Fran. The despatch ! 

The packet. — Look on me — I serve the Cardinal — 
You know me. — Did you not keep guard last night 
By Marion's house ? 

Be Mau. I did ; — no matter now ! 

They told me, he was here ! — 

Fran. O joy ! quick — quick — 

The packet thou didst wrest from me 1 

Be Mau. The packet ? 

What, art thou he I deem'd the Cardinal's spy 
(Dupe that I was) — and overhearing Marion — 

Fran. The same — restore it ! haste ! 

Be Mau. I have it not ; 

Methought it but reveal'd our scheme to Eichelieu, 
And, as we mounted, gave it to 

Enter Baradas. 

Stand back ! 
Now, villain ! now — I have thee ! 

[To Francois.] Hence, sir ! — Bravo t 



266 lticiiELiEu; [act iv. 

Fran. Art mad 1 — the King's at hand ! leave him to 
Richelieu ! 
Speak — the despatch — to whom — 

De Mau. [dashing him aside, and rushing to Baradas]. 
Thou triple slanderer ! 
I'll set my heel upon thy crest ! [A feiv passes. 

Fran. Fly— fly !— 

The King ! 

Enter at one side Louis, Orleans, De Beringhen, Cour- 
tiers. tOc. ; at the other, the Guards hastily. 

Louis. Swords drawn — before our very palace ! 

Have our laws died with Richelieu % 

Bar. Pardon, Sire, — 

My crime but self-defence.* [Aside to King.] It is De 
Mauprat ! 
Louis. Dare he thus brave us 1 

[Baeadas goes to the Guard, and gives the writ. 

De Mau. Sire, in the Cardinal's name — 

Bar. Seize him — disarm — to the Bastile ! 

[De Mauprat seized, struggles with the Guard — Fhan^ois 
restlessly endeavouring to pacify and speak to him — 
when the gates open. Enter Eichelieu — Joseph — 
followed by Arquebusiers. 

* One of Kichelieu's severest and least politic laws was that 
which made duelling a capital crime. Never was the punishment 
against the offence more relentlessly enforced ; and never were duels 
so desperate and so numerous. The punishment of death must be 
evidently ineffectual so long as to refuse a duel is to be dishonoured, 
and so long as men hold the doctrine, however wrong, that it is 
better to part with the life that Heaven gave than the honour man 
makes. In fact, the greater the danger he iucui-red, the greater 
■was the punctilio of the cavalier of that time in braving it, 



SCENE I.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 267 

Bar. The Dead 

Return'd to life ! 

Louis. What a mock death ! this tops 

The Infinite of Insult. 

Be Mau. [breaking from the Guards]. Priest and Hero ! — 
For you are both — protect the truth ! 

Rich, [taking tlie writ from the Guard]. "What's this 1 

JDe Ber. Fact in Philosophy. Foxes have got 
Nine lives, as well as cats ! 

Bar. Be firm, my liege. 

Louis. I have assumed the sceptre — I will wield it ! 

Joseph. The tide runs counter — there'll be shipwreck 

somewhere. 

[Bakadas and Orleans keep close to the King, whispering 
and prompting him when Richelieu speaks. 

Rich. High treason — Faviaux ! still that stale pretence! 
My liege, bad men (ay, Count, most knavish men !) 
Abuse your royal goodness. For this soldier, 
France hath none braver — and his youth's hot folly, 
Misled — (by whom your Highness may conjecture !) — 
Is long since cancell'd by a loyal manhood. — 
I, Sire, have pardon'd him. 

Louis. And we do give 

Your pardon to the winds. Sir, do your duty ! 

Rich. What, Sire 1 — you do not know — Oh, pardon 
me — 
You know not yet, that this brave, honest heart, 
Stood between mine and murder ! — Sire ! for my sake — 
For your old servant's sake — undo this wrong. 
See, let me rend the sentence. 

Louis. At your peril ! 

This is too much : — Again, sir, do your duty ! 



268 RICHELIEU ; [act IV 

Rich. Speak not, but go : — I would not see young Valour 
So humbled as grey Service. 

l)c Mau. Fare you well ! 

Save Julie, and console her. 

Fran, [aside to Mauprat]. The despatch ! 
Your fate, foes, life, hang on a word ! — to whom 1 

De Mau. To Huguet. 

Frail. Hush — keep counsel ! — silence — hope ! 

[Exeunt Mauprat and Guard. 

Bar. [aside to Francois]. Has he the packet ? 

Fran. He will not reveal — 

[Aside.] Work, brain ! — beat, heart ! — " There's no such 

word as fail /" [Exit Francois. 

Rich, [fiercely]. Room, my Lords, room ! — the Minister 
of France 
Can need no intercession with the King. [They fall back. 

Louis. "What means this false report of death, Lord 
Cardinal ? 

Rich. Are you then anger'd. Sire, that I live still 1 

Louis. No ; but such artifice — 

Rich, Not mine : — look elsewhere ! 

Louis — my castle swarm'd with the assassins. 

Bar. [advancing]. We have punish'd them already. 
Huguet now 
In the Bastile. — Oh ! my Lord, ive were prompt 
To avenge you — we were — 

Rich. We % — Ha, ha ! you hear, 

My liege ! What page, man, in the last court grammar 
Made you a plural ? Count, you have seized the hireling : — 
Sire, shall I name the master ? 

Louis. Tush, my Lord, 

The old contrivance :— ever does your wit 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 269 

Invent assassins, — that ambition may 
Slay rivals 

Rich. Rivals, Sire, in what? 

Service to France 1 I have none ! Lives the man 
Whom Europe, paled before your glory, deems 
Rival to Armand Richelieu 1 

Louis. What, so haughty ! 

Remember, he who made, can unmake. 

Rich. Never \ 

Never ! Your anger can recall your trust, 
Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, 
Rifle my coffers, — but my name — my deeds, 
Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre ! 
Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from Kings, 
Lo ! I appeal to time ! [Be just, my liege — 
I found your kingdom rent with heresies 
And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles 
And breadless serfs ; England fomenting discord ; 
Austria — her clutch on your dominion ; Spain 
Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 
To arm'd thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead, 
Trade rotted in your marts, your Armies mutinous, 
Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
Your trust, so be it ! and I leave you, sole 
Supremest Monarch of the mightiest realm, 
From Ganges to the Icebergs : — Look without ; 
No foe not humbled ! — Look within ; the Arts 
Quit for your schools — their old Hesperides 
The golden Italy ! while through the veins 
Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides 
Trade, the calm health of nations ! 

Sire, I know 



270 RICHELIEU ; [act IV 

Your smoother courtiers please you best — nor measure 
Myself with them, — yet sometimes I would doubt 
If Statesmen rock'd and dandled into power 
Could leave such legacies to kings ! 

[Louis appears irresolute. 

Bar. [passing him, whispers]. But Julie, 
Shall I not summon her to court ?] 

Louis [motions to Baradas, and turns haughtily to the 
Cardinal]. Enough ! 
Your Eminence must excuse a longer audience. 
To your own palace : — Eor our conference, this 
Nor place — nor season. 

Mich. Good my liege, for Justice 

All place a temple, and all season, summer ! — 
Do you deny me justice 1 — Saints of Heaven ! 
He turns from me ! — Do you deny me justice ? 
Eor fifteen years, while in these hands dwelt Empire, 
The humblest craftsman — the obscurest vassal — 
The very leper shrinking from the sun, 
Though loathed by Charity, might ask for justice ! — 
Not with the fawning tone and crawling mien 
Of some I see around you — Counts and Princes — 
Kneeling for favours ; — but, erect and loud, 
As men who ask man's rights ! — my liege, my Louis, 
Do you refuse me justice — audience even — 
In the pale presence of the baffled Murther 1 * 

* For the haughty and rebuking tone which Eichelieu assumed 
in his expostulations with the King, see his Memoirs (passim) in 
Petitot's collection, vols. 22-30 (bis). Montesquieu, in one of his 
brilliant antitheses, says well of Richelieu, "111 avila le roi, mais 
il illuiitra le regne." 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 271 

Louis. Lord Cardinal — one by one you have sever'd 
from nae 
The bonds of human love. All near and dear 
Mark'd out for vengeance — exile or the scaffold. 
You find me now amidst my trustiest friends, 
My closest kindred ; — you would tear them from me ; 
They murder you forsooth, since me they love ! 
Eno' of plots and treasons for one reign ! 
Home ! — Home ! and sleep away these phantoms ! 

Rich. Sire ! 

I patience, Heaven ! — sweet Heaven ! Sire, from the 

foot 
Of that Great Throne, these hands have raised aloft 
On an Olympus, looking down on mortals 
And worshipp'd by their awe — before the foot 
Of that high throne, — spurn you the grey-hair'd man, 
Who gave you empire — and now sues for safety 1 

Louis. No : — when we see your Eminence in truth 
At the foot of the throne — we'll listen to you. 

[Exit Louis. 

Orle. Saved ! 

Bar. For this deep thanks to Julie and to Mauprat ! 

Rich. My Lord de Baradas — I pray your pardon — 
You are to be my successor ! — your hand, sir ! 

Bar. [aside]. What can this mean. ? 

Rich. It trembles, see I it trembles ! 

The hand that holds the destinies of nations 
Ought to shake less ! — poor Baradas — poor France ! 

Bar. Insolent 

[Exeunt Baradas and Orleans. 



272 RICHELIEU ; [act it. 



SCENE II. 

Rich. Joseph — Did you hear the King 1 

Joseph. I did — there's danger ! Had you been less 

haughty* 

Rich. And suffer'd slaves to chuckle — " See the 
Cardinal — 

How meek his Eminence is to-day " — I tell thee 

This is a strife in which the loftiest look 

Is the most subtle armour 

Joseph. But 

Rich. No time 

For ifs and buts. I will accuse these traitors ! 

Francois shall witness that De Baradas 

Gave him the secret missive for De Bouillon, 

And told him life and death were in the scroll. 

I will— I will— 

Joseph, Tush ! Frangois is your creature ; 

So they will say, and laugh at you ! — your witness 

Must he that same Despatch. 

* However " orgueilleux " and " colere " in his disputes with Louis, 
the Cardinal did not always disdain recourse to the arts of the 
courtier ; once, after an angry discussion with the King, in which, 
as usual, Eichelieu got the better, Louis, as they quitted the palace 
together, said, rudely, " Sortez le premier ; vous etes bien le roi de 
France." "Si je passe le premier," replied the minister, after a 
moment's hesitation, and with great adroitness, " ce ne peut etre 
que comme le plus humble de vos serviteurs ;" and he took a flam- 
beau from one of the pages to light the King as he walked betore 
bim — "en reculant et sans tourner le dos." 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 273 

Rich. Away to Marion ! 

Joseph. 1 have been there — she is seized — removed— 
imprison'd — 
By the Count's orders. 

Rich. Goddess of bright dreams, 

My country — shalt thou lose me now, when most 
Thou need'st thy worshipper % My native land ! 
Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart, 
And die — but on thy bosom ! 

Enter Julie. 

Julie. Heaven ! I thank thee ! 

It cannot be, or this all-powerful man 
Would not stand idly thus. 

Rich. What dost thou here ? 

Home ! 

Julie. Home ! — is Adrian there ? — you're dumb — yet 
strive 
For words ; I see them trembling on your lip, 
But choked by pity. It ioas truth — all truth ! 
Seized — the Bastille — and in your presence, too ! 
Cardinal, where is Adrien 1 — Think — he saved 
Your life : — your name is infamy, if wrong 
Should come to his ! 

Rich. Be soothed, child. 

Julie. Child no more ; 

I love, and I am woman ! Hope and suffer — 
Love, suffering, hope, — what else doth make the strength 
And majesty of woman ? — Where is Adrien 1 

Rich, [to Joseph]. Your youth was never young — you 
never loved : — 
Speak to her — 



274 hichelieu ; [act iv- 

Joseph. Nay, take heed — the King's command, 

'Tis true — I mean — the — 

Julie [to Richelieu]. Let thine eyes meet mine ; 
Answer me but one word — I am a wife — 
I ask thee for my home — my fate — my all ! 
Where is my husband ? 

Rich. You are Richelieu's ward, 

A soldier's bride : they who insist on truth 
Must out-face fear ; — you ask me for your husband ? 
There — where the clouds of Heaven look darkest, o'er 
The domes of the Bastille ! 

Julie. I thank you, father ; 

You see I do not shudder. Heaven forgive you 
The sin of this desertion ! 

Rich, [detaining her\. Whither wouldst thou 1 

Julie. Stay me not. Fie ! I should be there already. 
I am thy ward, and haply he may think 
Thou'st taught me also to forsake the wretched ! 

Rich. I've fill'd those cells — with many — traitors all. 
Had they wives too 1 — Thy memories, Power, are solemn ! 
Poor sufferer ! — think' st thou that yon gates of woe 
Unbar to love % Alas ! if love once enter, 
'Tis for the last farewell ; between those walls 
And the mute grave * — the blessed household sounds 
Only heard once — while hungering at the door, 
The headsman whets the axe. 

Julie. O, mercy ! mercy ! 

Save him, restore him, father ! Art thou not 
The Cardinal-King 1 — the Lord of life and death — 

* "Selon l'usage de Louis XIII., faire arreter quelqu'un pour 
crime d'e'tat, et ie faire mourir, l'etait a peu pres la meme chose." — 
Le Clerc. 



SCENE II.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 275 

Beneath whose light, as deeps beneath the moon, 
The solemn tides of Empire ebb and flow ? 
Art thou not Richelieu 1 

Rich, Yesterday I was ! — 

To-day, a very weak old man ! — To-morrow, 
I know not what ! 

Julie. Do you conceive his meaning 1 

Alas ! I cannot. But, methinks, my senses 
Are duller than they were ! 

Joseph. The King is chafed 

Against his servant. Lady, while we speak, 
The lackey of the ante-room is not 
More powerless than the Minister of France. 

[Rich. And yet the air is still ; Heaven wears no cloud ; 
From Nature's silent orbit starts no portent - 
To warn the unconscious world ; albeit this night 
May with a morrow teem which, in my fall, 
Would carry earthquake to remotest lands, 
And change the Christian globe. What wouldst thouy 

woman 1 
Thy fate and his, with mine, for good or ill, 
Are woven threads. In my vast sum of life 
Millions such units merge.] 

Enter First Courtier. 

First Cour. Madame de Mauprat ! 

Pardon, your Eminence — even now I seek 
This lady's home — commanded by the King 
To pray her presence. 

Julie [clinging to Richelieu]. Think of my dead 
father ! — 
Think, how, an infant^ clinging to your knees, 
t 2 



276 RICHELIEU -j [ACT IV- 

And looking to your eyes, the wrinkled care 
Fled from your brow before the smile of childhood, 
Fresh from the dews of Heaven ! Think of this, 
And take me to your breast. 

Rich. To those who sent you ! — 

And say you found the virtue they would slay 
Here — couch'd upon this heart, as at an altar, 
And shelter d by the wings of sacred Rome ! 
Begone ! 

First Cour. My Lord, I am your friend and servant — 
Misjudge me not ; but never yet was Louis 
So roused against you : — shall I take this answer? — 
It were to be your foe. 

Rich. All time my foe, 

If I, a Priest, could cast this holy Sorrow 
Forth from her last asylum ! 

First Cour. He is lost ! [Exit First Courtier. 

Rch. God help thee, child ! — she hears not ! Look 
upon her ! 
The storm, that rends the oak, uproots the flower. 
Her father loved me so ! and in that age 
"When friends are brothers ! She has been to me 
Soother, nurse, plaything, daughter. Are these tears? * 
Oh ! shame, shame ! — dotage ! 

* Like Cromwell and Rienzi, Richelieu appears to have been 
easily moved to tears. The Queen Mother, who put the hardest in- 
terpretation on that humane weakness, which is natural with very 
excitable temperaments, said that "il pleurait quand il voulait." 
I may add, to those who may be inclined to imagine that Richelieu 
appears in parts of this scene too dejected for consistency with so 
imperious a character, that it is recorded of him that " quand ses 
affaires ne reuississoient pas, il se trouvoit abattu et epouvante, et 
quand il obtenoit ce qu'il souhaitoit, il e*toit fier et insultant." 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSDIKACY. 277 

Joseph. Tears are not for eyes 

That rather need the lightning, which can pierce 
Through barred gates and triple walls, to smite 
Crime, where it cowers in secret ! — The Despatch ! 
Set every spy to work ; — the morrow's sun 
-Must see that written treason in your hands, 
Or rise upon your ruin. 

Rich. Ay — and close 

Upon my corpse ! — I am not made to live — 
Friends, glory, France, all reft from me ; — my star 
Like some vain holiday mimicry of fire, 
Peircing imperial Heaven, and falling down 
Rayless and blacken' d, to the dust — a thing 
For all men's feet to trample ! Yea ! — to-morrow 
Triumph or death ! Look up, child ! — Lead us, Joseph. 
[As they are going out, enter Baeadas and De Berixghex. 

Bar. My Lord, the King cannot believe your Eminence 
So far forgets your duty, and his greatness, 
As to resist his mandate ! Pray you, Madam, 
Obey the King — no cause for fear ! 

Julie. • My father ! 

Rich. She shall not stir ! 

Bar. You are not of her kindred — 

An orphan — 

Rich. And her country is her mother ! 

Bar. The country is the King ! 

Rich. Ay, is it so 1 — 

Then wakes the power which in the age of iron 
Burst forth to curb the great, and raise the low. 
Mark, where she stands ! — around her form I draw 
The awful circle of our solemn church ! 
Set but a foot within that holy ground, 



278 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 

And on thy head — yea, though it wore a crown — 
I launch the curse of Rome ! 

Bar. I dare not brave you ! 

I do but speak the orders of my King, 
The church, your rank, power, very word, my Lord, 
Suffice you for resistance : — blame yourself, 
If it should cost you power ! 

Rich. That my stake. — Ah ! 

Dark gamester ! what is thine ? Look to it well ! — 
Lose not a trick. — By this same hour to-morrow 
Thou shalt have France, or I thy head ! 

Bar. [aside to De Beringhen]. He cannot 

Have the Despatch 1 

De Ber. No : were it so, your stake 

Were lost already. 

Joseph \aside\ Patience is your game : 

Reflect, you have not the Despatch ! 

Rich. ! monk ! 

Leave patience to the saints — for / am human ! 
Did not thy father die for France, poor orphan % 
And now they say thou hast no father ! — Fre ! 
Art thou not pure and good ? — if so, thou art 
A part of that — the Beautiful, the Sacred — 
Which, in all climes, men that have hearts adore, 
By the great title of their mother country ! 

Bar. [aside]. He wanders ! 

Rich. So cling close unto my breast, 

Here where thou droop'st lies France. I am very 

feeble — 
Of little use it seems to either now. 
Well, well — we will go home. 

Bar. In sooth, my Lord, 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 279 

You do need rest — the burthens of the State 
O'er task your health ! 

Rich, [to Joseph]. I'm patient, see ! 

Bar. [aside]. His mind 

And life are breaking fast ! 

Rich, [overhearing him]. Irreverent ribald ! 
If so, beware the falling ruins ! Hark ! 
I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, 
When this snow melteth there shall come a flood ! 
Avaunt ! my name is Richelieu — I defy thee ! 
Walk blindfold on ; behind thee stalks the headsman. 
Ha ! ha ! — how pale he is ! Heaven save my country ! 

[Falls back in Joseph's arms. 

[Baradas exit, followed by De Beringhen, betraying his 
exultation by his gestures. 



ACT Y. 

FOURTH DAY. 

SCENE I. — The Bastille — a Corridor; in the baclc-ground the door 
of one of the condemned cells. 

Enter Joseph and Gaoler. 

Gaoler. Stay, father ; ft trill call the Governor. 

[Exit Gaoler. 

Joseph. He has it, then — this Huguet ; — so we learn 
From Francois ; — Humph ! Now if I can but gain 
One moment's access, all is ours ! The Cardinal 
Trembles 'tween life and death. His life is power ; 
Smite one — slay both ! No iEsculapian drugs, 



280 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 

By learned quacks baptized with Latin jargon, 
E'er bore the healing which that scrap of parchment 
Will medicine to Ambition's flagging heart. 
France shall be saved — and Joseph be a bishop. 

Enter Governor and Joseph. 

Gov. Father, you wish to see the prisoners Huguet 
And the young knight De Mauprat 1 

Joseph. So my office, 

And the Lord Cardinal's order, warrant, son ! 

Gov. Father, it cannot be : Count Baradas 
Has summon'd to the Louvre Sieur de Mauprat. 

Joseph. Well, well ! But Huguet 

Gov. Dies at noon. 

Joseph. At noon ! 

No moment to delay the pious rites 
Which fit the soul for death. Quick — quick — admit me ! 

Gov. You cannot enter, monk ! Such are my orders ! 

Joseph. Orders, vain man ! — the Cardinal still is 
minister. 
His orders crush all others ! 

Gov. [lifting his hat\. Save his king's ! 

See, monk, the royal sign and seal affix'd 
To the Count's mandate. None may have access 
To either prisoner, Huguet or De Mauprat, 
Not even a priest, without the special passport 
Of Count de Baradas. I'll hear no more ! 

Joseph. Just Heaven ! and are we baffled thus 1 Despair ! 
Think on the Cardinal's power — beware his anger. 

Gov. I'll not be menaced, Priest ! Besides, the Cardinal 
Is dying and disgraced — all Paris knows it. 
You hear the prisoner's knell ! [Bell tolls. 



SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 281 

Joseph. I do beseech you — 

The Cardinal is not dying. But one moment, 
And — hist ! — five thousand pistoles ! — 

Gov. How ! a bribe l«- 

And to a soldier, grey with years of honour ! 
Begone ! — 

Joseph. Ten thousand — twenty ! — 

Gov. Gaoler ; put 

This monk without our walls. 

Joseph. By those grey hairs — 

Yea, by this badge [touching the cross of St. Louis worn 

by the Governor] — The guerdon of your valour — 
By all your toils — hard days and sleepless nights — 
Borne in your country's service, noble son — 
Let me but see the prisoner ! — 

Gov. No ! 

Joseph. He hath 

Secrets* of state — papers in which 

Gov. [interrupting]. I know — 

Such was his message to Count Baradas : 
Doubtless the Count will see to it ! 

Joseph. The Count ! 

Then not a hope ! — You shall 

Gov. Betray my trust ! 

Never — not one word more. You heard me, gaoler ! 

Joseph. What can be done? — Distraction ! Richelieu yet 
Must — what 1 — I know not ! Thought, nerve, strength, 

forsake me. 
Dare you refuse the Church her holiest rights ? 

Gov. I refuse nothing— I obey my orders. 

Joseph. And sell your country to her parricides ! 
Oh, tremble yet! — Richelieu 



282 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 

Gov. Begone ! 

Joseph. Undone ! [Exit Joseph. 

Gov. A most audacious shaveling — interdicted 
Above all others by the Count. 

Goaler. I hope, sir, 

I shall not lose my perquisites. The Sieur 
De Mauprat will not be reprieved ? 

Gov. Oh, fear not : 

The Count's commands by him who came for Mauprat 
Are to prepare headsman and axe by noon ; 
The Count will give you perquisites enough — 
Two deaths in one day ! 

Gaoler. Sir, may Heaven reward him ! 

Oh, by the way, that troublesome young fellow, 
Who calls himself the prisoner Huguet's son 
Is here again — implores, weeps, raves to see him. 

Gov. Poor youth, I pity him ! 

Enter De BEB.mGH.EX, followed by Francois. 

De Ber. [to Francois]. Now, prithee, friend, 
Let go my cloak ; you really discompose me. 

Fran. No, they will drive me hence : my father ! Oh ! 
Let me but see him once — but once — one moment ! 

De Ber. [to Governor]. Your servant, Messire ; this 
poor rascal, Huguet, 
Has sent to see the Count de Baradas 
Upon state secrets, that afflict his conscience. 
The Count can't leave his Majesty an instant : 
I am his proxy. 

Gov. The Count's word is law ! 

Again, young scapegrace ! How com'st thou admitted ? 

De Ber. Oh ! a most filial fellow : Huguet's son ! 



SCENE I.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 283 

I found him whimpering in the court below. 
I pray his leave to say good-bye to father, 
Before that very long, unpleasant journey, 
Father's about to take. Let him wait here 
Till I return. 

Fran. No ; take me with you. 

Be Ber. Nay ; 

After me, friend — the Public first ! 

Gov. The Count's 

Commands are strict. No one must visit Huguet 
Without his passport. 

Be Ber. Here it is ! Pshaw ! nonsense ! 

I'll be your surety. See, my Cerberus, 
He is no Hercules ! 

Gov. Well, you're responsible. 

Stand there, friend. If, when you come out, my Lord, 
The youth slip in, 'tis your fault. 

Be Ber. So it is ! 

[Exit through the door of the cell, followed by the Gaoler. 

Gov. Be calm, my lad. Don't fret so. I had once 
A father, too ! I'll not be hard upon you, 
And so, stand close. I must not see you enter : 
You understand ! Between this innocent youth 
And that intriguing monk there is, in truth, 
A wide distinction. 

Re-enter Gaoler. 

Come, we'll go our rounds ; 
I'll give you just one quarter of an hour ; 
And if my Lord leave first, make my excuse. 
Yet stay, the gallery's long and dark : no sentry 
Until he reach the grate below. He'd best 



284 iuchelieu; [act V 

Wait till I come. If he should lose the way, 
We may not be in call. 

Fran. Til tell him, sir. 

[Exeunt Governor and Gaoler. 
He's a wise son that knoweth his own father. 
I've forged a precious one ! So far, so well ! 
Alas ! what then ? this wretch hath sent to Baradas — 
Will sell the scroll to ransom life. Oh, Heaven ! 
On what a thread hangs hope ! [Listens at the door. 

Loud words — a cry ! 
[Looks through tfie keyhole. 
They struggle ! Ho ! — the packet ! ! ! 

[Tries to open the door. 
Lost ! He has it — 
The courtier has it — Huguet, spite his chains, 
Grapples ! — well done ! Now — now ! [Draws lack. 

The gallery's long — 
And this is left us ! 

[Drawing his dagger, and standing behind the door. Re-enter 
De Beringhen with the packet. 

Victory ! 

Yield it, robber — 
Yield it — or die — [A slwrt struggle. 

Be Ber. Off ! ho !— -there !— 

Fran, [grappling with him]. Death or honour I 

[Exeunt struggling. 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 285 



SCENE II. 

The King's closet at the Louvre. A suite of rooms in perspective 
at one side. ' 

Baradas and Orleans. 

Bar. All smiles ! the Cardinal's swoon of yesterday 
Heralds his death to-day. Could he survive, 
It would not be as minister — so great 
The King's resentment at the priest's defiance ! 
All smiles ! — And yet, should this accursed De Mauprat 
Have given our packet to another — 'Sdeath ! 
I dare not think of it ! 

Orle. You've sent to search him 1 

Bar. Sent, sir, to search ? — that hireling hands may find 
Upon him, naked, with its broken seal, 
That scroll, whose every word is death ! No — No — 
These hands alone must clutch that awful secret. 
I dare not leave the palace, night nor day, 
While Richelieu lives — his minions — creatures — spies — 
Not one must reach the King ! 

Orle. What hast thou done ? 

Bar. Summon'd De Mauprat hither. 

Orle. Could this Huguet, 

Who pray'd thy presence with so fierce a fervour, 
Have thieved the scroll ? 

Bar. Huguet was housed with us, 

The very moment we dismiss'd the courier. 
It cannot be ! a stale trick for reprieve. 



RICHELIEU ; [ACT V. 

But, to make sure, I've sent our trustiest friend 

To see and sift him. — Hist ! — here comes the King — 

How fare you, Sire 1 

Enter Louis. 

Louis. In the same mind. I have 

Decided ! — Yes, he would forbid your presence, 
My brother — yours, my friend, — then Julie, too ! 
Thwarts — braves — defies. — [suddenly turning to Baradas] 

"We make you minister. 
Gaston, for you — the baton of our armies. 
You love me, do you not 1 

Orle. Oh, love you, Sire 1 

[Aside.] Never so much as now. 

Bar. May I deserve 

Your trust [aside] until you sign your abdication ! 
My liege, but one way left to daunt De Mauprat, 
And Julie to divorce. — We must prepare 
The death- writ ; what, though sign'd and seal'd 1 we can 
Withhold the enforcement. 

Louis. Ah, you may prepare it ; 

We need not urge it to effect. 

Bar. Exactly ! 

No haste, my liege. [Locking at his watch and aside.] He 
may live one hour longer. 

Enter Courtier. 

Hour. The Lady Julie, Sire, implores an audience. 

Louis. Aha ! repentant of her folly ! — Well, 
Admit her. 

Bar. Sire, she comes for Mauprat's pardon, 
And the conditions 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 287 

Louis. You are minister — 

We leave to you our answer. 

[As Julie enters, the Captain of the Arch era by another 
door, and whispers Baradas. 

Capt. The Chevalier 

De Mauprat waits below. 

Bar. [aside]. Now the despatch ! 

[Exit with Officer. 
Eater Julie. 

Julie. My liege, you sent for me. I come where Grief 
Should come when guiltless, while the name of King 
Is holy on the earth ! Here, at the feet 
Of Power, I kneel for mercy. 

Louis. Mercy, Julie, 

Is an affair of state. The Cardinal should 
In this be your interpreter. 

Julie. Alas ! 

I know not if that mighty spirit now 
Stoop to the things of earth. Nay, while I speak, 
Perchance he hears the orphan by the throne 
Where kings themselves need pardon ; my liege, 
Be father to the fatherless ; in you 
Dwells my last hope 1 

Enter Baradas. 

Bar. [aside]. He has not the despatch ; 

Smiled, while we search'd, and braves me. — Oh ! 

Louis [gently]. What wouldst thou ? 

Julie. A single life. — You reign o'er millions. — What 
Is one mans life to you 1 — and yet to me 
'Tis France — 'tis earth — 'tis everything ! — a life — 
A human life — my husband's. 



288 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 

Louis [aside]. Speak to her, 
I am not marble, — give her hope — or 



Bar. Madam, 

Vex not'your King, whose heart, too soft for justice, 
Leaves to his ministers that solemn charge. 

[Louis walks up the stage. 

Julie. You were his friend. 

Bar. I was before I loved thee. 

Julie. Loved me ! 

Bar. Hush, Julie : could st thou misinterpret 

My acts, thoughts, motives, nay, my very words, 
Here — in this palace % 

Julie. Now I know I'm mad ; 

Even that memory fail'd me. 

Bar. I am young, 

Well-born and brave as Mauprat ! — for thy sake 
I peril what he has not — fortune — power ; 
All to great souls most dazzling. I alone 
Can save thee from yon tyrant, now my puppet ! 
Be mine ; annul the mockery of this marriage, 
And on the day I clasp thee to my breast 
De Mauprat shall be free. 

Julie. Thou durst not speak 

Thus in his ear [pointing to Louis]. Thou double traitor \ 

— tremble ! 
I will unmask thee. 

Bar. I will say thou ravest. 

And see this scroll ! its letters shall be blood ! 
Go to the King, count with me word for word ; 
And while you pray the life — I write the sentence ! 

Julie. Stay, stay [rushing to the King]. You have a 
kind and princely heart, 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 289 

Tho' sometimes it is silent : you were born 

To power — it has not flush'd you into madness, 

As it doth meaner men. Banish my husband — 

Dissolve our marriage — cast me to that grave 

Of human ties, where hearts congeal to ice, 

In the dark convent's everlasting winter — 

(Surely eno' for justice — hate — revenge) — 

But spare this life, thus lonely, scath'd, and bloomless ; 

And when thou stand' st for judgment on thine own, 

The deed shall shine beside thee as an angel. 

Louis [much affected]. Go, go, to Baradas : annul thy 

marriage, 
And 

Julie [anxiously, and watching his countenance]. Be hia 
bride ! 

Louis. A form, a mere decorum ; 

Thou know'st I love thee. 

Julie. O thou sea of shame, 

And not one star ! 

[The King goes up the stage, and passes through the suite of 
rooms at the side, in evident emotion. 

Bar. Well, thy election, Julie ; 

This hand — his grave ! 

Julie. His grave ! and I 

Bar. Can save him. — 

Swear to be mine. 

Julie. That were a bitterer death ! 

Avaunt, thou tempter ! I did ask his life 
A boon, and not the barter of dishonour. 
The heart can break, and scorn you : wreak your malice ; 
Adrien and I will leave you this sad earth, 
And pass together hand in hand to Heaven ! 



290 RICHELIEU ; [ACT V- 

Bar. You have decided. 

[Withdraws to the side scene for a moment, and returns. 
Listen to me, Lady ; 
I am no base intriguer. I adored thee 
From the first glance of those inspiring eyes ; 
With thee entwined ambition, hope, the future. 
/ will not lose thee ! I can place thee nearest — 
Ay, to the throne — nay, on the throne, perchance ; 
My star is at its zenith. Look upon me ; 
Hast thou decided 1 

Julie. No, no ; you can see 

How weak I am : be human, sir — one moment. 

Bar. [stamping his foot, De Mauprat appears at the 
side of the stage guarded]. Behold thy husband ! — ShaB 

he pass to death, 
And know thou couldst have saved him 1 

Julie. Adrien, speak ! 

But say you wish to live ! — if not, your wife, 
Your slave, — do with me as you will. 

De Mau. Once more ! — 

Why this is mercy, Count ! Oh, think, my Julie, 
Life, at the best, is short, — but love immortal ! 

Bar. [taking Julie's hand]. Ah, loveliest — 

Julie. Go, that touch has made me iron. 

We have decided — death ! 

Bar. [to De Mauprat]. Now say to whom 
Thou gavest the packet, and thou yet shalt live. 

De Mau. I'll tell thee nothing ! 

Bar. Hark, — the rack ! 

De Mau. Thy penance 

For ever, wretch ! — What rack is like the conscience 1 

Julie. I shall be with thee soon. 



SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 291 

Bar. [giving the writ to tJie Officer.] Hence, to the 
headsman ! 

[The doors are throivn open. The Huissier announces " His 
Eminence the Cardinal Duke de Richelieu." 

Enter Richelieu, attended by Gentlemen, Pages, &c, pale, 
feeble, and leaning on Joseph, followed by three Secretaries 
of State, attended by Sub-Secretaries with papers, &c. 

Julie [rushing to Richelieu]. You live — you live — and 
Adrien shall not die ! 

Rich. Not if an old man's prayers, himself near death, 
Can aught avail thee, daughter ! Count, you now 
Hold what I held on earth : — one boon, my Lord, 
This soldier's life. 

Bar. The stake,— my head ! — you said it. 

I cannot lose one trick. — Remove your prisoner. 

Julie. No ! — No ! — 

Enter Louis from the rooms beyond. 

Rich, [to Officer]. Stay, Sir, one moment. My good liege, 
Your worn-out servant, willing, Sire, to spare you 
Some pain of conscience, would forestall your wishes. 
I do resign my office. 

De Mau. You ! 

Julie. All's over ! 

Rich. My end draws near. These sad ones, Sire, I love 
them. 
I do not ask his life ; but suffer justice 
To halt, until I can dismiss his soul, 
Charged with an old man's blessing. 

Louis. Surely ! 

Bar. Sire 

Louis. Silence — small favour to a dying servant. 

Rich. You would consign your armies to the baton 
u 2 



292 RICHELIEU ; [act V, 

Of your most honoured brother. Sire, so be it ! 

Your minister, the Count de Baradas ; 

A most sagacious choice ! — Your Secretaries 

Of State attend me, Sire, to render up 

The ledgers of a realm. I do beseech you, 

Suffer these noble gentlemen to learn 

The nature of the glorious task that waits them, 

Here, in my presence. 

Louis. You say well, my Lord. 

[To Secretaries, as he seats himself. 
Approach, Sirs. 

Rich. I — I — faint ! — air — air ! 

[Joseph and a Gentleman assist him to a sofa, placed 
beneath a window. 

I thank you — 

Draw near, my children. 

Bar. He's too weak to question. 

Nay, scarce to speak ; all's safe. 



SCENE III. 

Manent Richelieu, Maupeat, and Julie, the last hieeling beside 
the Cardinal; the Officer of the Guard behind Mauprat. Joseph 
near Richelieu, watching the King. Louis. Bakadas at the bach 
of the King's chair, anxious and disturbed. Orleans at a greater 
distance, careless and triumphant. The Secretaries. As each Secre- 
tary advances m his turn, he takes the portfolios from the Sub' 
Secretaries. 

First Sec. The affairs of Portugal, 

Most urgent, Sire : One short month since the Duke 
Braganza was a rebel. 

Louis. And is still ! 

First Sec. No, Sire, he has succeeded ! He is now 



SCENE HI.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 293 

Crown'd King of Portugal — craves instant succour 
Against the arms of Spain. 

Louis. We will not grant it 

Against his lawful king. Eh, Count 1 

Bar. No, Sire. 

First Sec. But Spain's your deadliest foe : whatever 
Can weaken Spain must strengthen France. The Cardinal 
Would send the succours : — [solemnly] — balance, Sire, of 
Europe ! 

Louis. The Cardinal ! — balance ! — We'll conr'der. — 
Eh, Count % 

Bar. Yes, Sire ; — fall back. 

First Sec. But 

Bar. Ob ! fall back, Sir. 

Joseph. Humph ! 

Second Sec. The affairs of England, Sire, most urgent ■ 
Charles 
The First has lost a battle that decides 
One half his realm, — craves moneys, Sire, and succour. 

Louis. He shall have both. — Eh, Baradas 1 

Bar. Yes, Sire. 

(Oh that despatch ! — my veins are fire !) 

Rich, [feebly, but with great distinctness]. My liege — 
Forgive me — Charles's cause is lost ! A man, 
Named Cromwell, risen, — a great man ! — your succour 
Would fail — your loans be squander'd ! — Pause — reflect.* 

Louis. Reflect. — Eh, Baradas? 

Bar. Reflect, Sire. 

Joseph. Humph ! 

Louis [aside]. I half repent ! — No successor to Riche- 
lieu ! — 

* See in "Cinq Mars," Vol. V., the striking and brilliant chapter 
from which the interlude of the Secretaries is borrowed. 



294 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 

Round me thrones totter ! — dynasties dissolve ! — 
The soil he guards alone escapes the earthquake ! 

Joseph. Our star not yet eclipsed ! — you mark the King? 
Oh ! had we the despatch ! 

Rich. Ah ! Joseph ! — Child — 

Would I could help thee ! 

Enter Gentleman, whispers Joseph, who exit hastily. 

Bar. [to Secretary]. Sir, fall back. 

Second Sec. But 

Bar. Pshaw, Sir ! 

Third Sec. [mysteriously]. The secret correspondence, 
Sire, most urgent, — 
Accounts of- spies — deserters — heretics — 

Assassins — poisoners — schemes against yourself ! 

Louis. Myself! — most urgent ! — [looking on the docu- 
ments.] 

Re-enter Joseph with Fkancois, whose powpoint is streaked with 
Hood. FKAN901S passes behind the Cardinal's Attendants, 
and, sheltered by them from the sight o/Bakadas, &c, falls 
at Richelieu's feet. 

Fran. ! my Lord ! 

Rich. Thou art bleeding ! 

Fran. A scratch — I have not fail'd 

[Gives the packet. 

Rich. Hush ! — 

[Looking at the contents. 

Third Sec. [to King]. Sire, the Spaniards 

Have reinforced their army on the frontiers. 
The Due de Bouillon 

Rich. Hold ! — In this department — 

A paper — here, Sire, — read yourself — then take 
The Count's advice in 't. 



SCENE III.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. U9<) 

Enter De Beringhen hastily, and draws aside Baradas. 
(Richelieu to Secretary, giving an open parchment. 
Bar. [bursting from De Beringhen]. What ! and reft 
it from thee ! 
Ha !— hold ! 

Joseph. Fall back, son, it is your turn now ! 
Bar. Death ! — the despatch ! 

Louis [reading]. To Bouillon — and sign'd Orleans ! — 
Baradas, too ! — league with our foes of Spain ! — 
Lead our Italian armies — what ! to Paris ! — 
Capture the King — my health requires repose — 
Make me subscribe my proper abdication- 
Orleans, my brother, Regent ! — Saints of Heaven ! 
These are the men I loved ! 

[Babadas draws, — attempts to rush out, — is arrested. — 
Orleans, endeavouring to escape more quicJcbj, meets 
Joseph's eye and stojis short. Richelieu falls back. 

Joseph. See to the Cardinal ! 

Bar. He's dying ! and I yet shall dupe the King ! 

Louis [rushing to Richelieu]. Richelieu ! — Lord 
Cardinal !— 'tis I resign ! — 
Reign thou ! 

Joseph. Alas ! too late ! — he faints ! 

Louis. Reign, Richelieu ! 

Rich, [feebly]. With absolute power ? 

Louis. Most absolute ! — Oh ! live ! 

If not for me — for France ! 

Rich. France ! 

Louis. Oh ! this treason ! — 
The army — Orleans — Bouillon — Heavens ! — the Spa- 
niard ! — 
Where will they be next week ? 



296 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 

Rich, [starting up]. There, — at my feet ! 

[To First and Second Secretary. 
Ere the clock strike ! — the Envoys have their answer ! 

[To Third Secretary, vnth a ring. 
This to De Chavigny — he knows the rest — 
No need of parchment here — he must not halt 
For sleeps — for food. — In my name, — mine ! — he Avili 
Arrest the Due de Bouillon at the head 
Of his army ! — Ho ! there, Count de Baradas, 
Thou hast lost the stake ! — Away with him ! * 

[As the Guards open the folding-doors, a view of the ante- 
room beyond, lined with Courtiers. Baradas passes 
through the line, 

Ha !— ha !— 
[Snatching De Mauprat's death-warrant from the Officer. 
See here De Mauprat's death-writ, Julie ! — 
Parchment for battledores ! — Embrace your husband ! — 
At last the old man blesses you ! 

Julie. O joy ! 

You are saved ; you live — I hold you in these arms. 
Mau. Never to part — 

Julie. No — never, Adrien — never ! 

Louis [peevishly]. One moment makes a startling cure, 

Lord Cardinal, t 
Rich. Ay, Sire, for in one moment there did pass 
Into this wither'd frame the might of France ! — 

* The passion of the drama requires this catastrophe for Baradas. 
He however survived his disgrace, though stripped of all his rapidly- 
acquired fortunes ; and the daring that belonged to his character 
won him distinction in foreign service. He returned to France after 
Richelieu's death, but never regained the same court influence. He 
had taken the vows of a Knight of Malta, and Louis made him a Prior. 

t The sudden resuscitation of Eichelieu (not to strain too much 



SCENE III.] OH, THE CONSPIRACY. 297 

My own dear France — I have thee yet — I have saved 

thee! 
I clasp thee still ! — it was thy voice that call'd me 
Back from the tomb ! — What mistress like our country 1 

Louis. For Mauprat's pardon — well ! But Julie, — 
Richelieu, 
Leave me one thing to love ! — 

Rich. A subject's luxury ! 

Yet, if you must love something, Sire, — love me ! 

Louis [smiling in spite of himself \ Fair proxy for a 
young fresh Demoiselle ! 

Rich. Your heart speaks for my clients : — Kneel, my 
children, 
And thank your King, — 

Julie. Ah, tears like these, my liege, 

Are dews that mount to Heaven. 

Louis. Rise — rise — be happy. 

[Richelieu beckons to De Beringhen. 

Be Ber. [falteringly]. My lord — you are — most — 
happily — recover'd. 

Rich. But you are pale, dear Beringhen : — this air 
Suits not your delicate frame — 1 long have thought so : — 
Sleep not another night in Paris : — Go, — 
Or else your precious life may be in danger. 
Leave France, dear Beringhen ! 

on the real passion which supports him in this scene) is in con- 
formance with the more dissimulating part of his character. The 
extraordinary mobility of his countenance (latterly so deathlike, 
save when the mind spoke in the features) always lent itself to stage 
effect of this nature. The queen-mother said of him, that she bad 
seen him one moment so feeble, cast down, and "semi-mort," that 
he seemed on the point of giving up the ghost — and the next moment 
he would start up full of animation, energy, and life. 



298 RICHELIEU [ACT V. SC. III. 

De Ber. I shall have time, 

More than I ask'd for — to discuss the pate. 

[Exit De Beringhen. 

Rich, [to Orleans]. For you, repentance — absence — 

and confession ! [To Francois. 

Never say fail again. — Brave boy ! [To Joseph. 

He'll be— 
A Bishop first. 

Joseph. Ah, Cardinal — 

Rich. ^ Ah, Joseph ! !>- 

[To Louis— as De Mauprat and Julie converse apart. 
See. my liege — see thro' plots and counterplots — 
Thro' gain and loss — thro' glory and disgrace — 
Along the plains, where passionate Discord rears 
Eternal Babel — siill the holy stream 
Of human happiness glides on ! 

Louis. And must we 

Thank for that also — our prime Minister 1 

Rich. No — let us own it : — there is One above 
Sways the harmonious mystery of the world, 
Ev'n better than prime ministers ; — 

Alas! 
Our glories float between the earth and heaven 
Like clouds which seem pavilions of the sun, 
And are the playthings of the casual wind ; 
Still, like the cloud which drops on unseen crags 
The dews the wild flower feeds on, our ambition 
May from its airy height drop gladness down 
On unsuspected virtue ; — and the flower 
May bless the cloud when it hath pass'd away ! * 

* The imageand the sentiment in the concluding lines are borrowed 
from a passage in one of the writings attributed to the Cardinal. 



MONEY. 




** Tis a very good world we live in, 

To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 
'Tis the very worst world that ever was known." 

Old Truism. 

&xtii t es htrrsrfjt tier €rUe ffiott, bas gfofti"— Scbtllkb, 



DEDICATED TO 

JOHN FORSTER, ESQ., 

Author of " The Lives of Statesmen of the Commonwealth." 

A SUGHT MEMORIAL 
OP SINCERE RESPECT AND CORDIAL FRIENDSHIP ; 

ALTHOUGH 

(FOR WE ARE ALL HUMAN!) 

HE HAS, IN ONE INSTANCE, AND Bt'T ONE, 

•VrVSRED HIS JUDGMENT TO BE MISLED BY TOO GREAT A REGARD FOB 

"MONEY!" 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Lord Glossmore. 

Sir John Yesey, Bart., Knight of the Guelpb, 

F.R.S., F.S.A. 
Sir Frederick Blount. 
Stout. 
Graves. 
Evelyn. 

Captain Dudley Smooth. 
Sharp. 
Tore. 

Frantz, Tailor. 
Tabouret, Upholsterer. 
MacFinch, Jeweller and Silversmith. 
MacStucco, Architect 
Kite, Horse-dealer. 
Crimson, Portrait-painter. 
Grab, Publisher. 
Patent, * Coach-builder. 

Members of the * * * Club, Servants, &c. 

Lady Franklin, half-sister to Sir John Vesey. 

Georgina, daughter to Sir John. 

Clara, companion to Lady Franklin, cousin to Evelyn* 

Scene — London, 1840. 



MONEY. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



A drawing-room in Sir John Vesey's house ; folding-doors at 
'.he back, which open on another drawing-room. To the right a table, 
with newspapers, boohs, &c. ; to the left, a sofa writing-table. 

Sir John, Georgina. 

Sir John [reading a letter edged with blaclz\ Yes, he 
says at two precisely. " Dear Sir John, as since the 
death of my sainted Maria," — Hum ! — that's his wife ; 
she made him a martyr, and now he makes her a saint ! 

Geor. Well, as since her death ? — 

Sir John ^reading]."! have been living in chambers, where 
I cannot so well invite ladies, you will allow me to bring 
Mr. Sharp, the lawyer, to read the will of the late Mr. 
Mordaunt (to which I am appointed executor) at your 
house — your daughter being the nearest relation. I 
shall be with you at two precisely.— Henry Graves." 

Geor. And you really feel sure that poor Mr. Mordaunt 
has made me his heiress ? 

Sir John. Ay, the richest heiress in England. Can 
you doubt it ? Are you not his nearest relation 1 Niece 



304 MONEY. [ACT I. 

by your poor mother, his own sister. All the time he 
was making this enormous fortune in India did we ever 
miss sending him little reminiscences of our disinterested 
affection ? When he was last in England, and you only 
so high, was not my house his home 'I Didn't I get a 
surfeit out of complaisance to his execrable curries and 
pillaws 1 Didn't he smoke his hookah — nasty old — that 
is, poor dear man — in my best drawing-room 1 And 
didn't you make a point of calling him your " handsome 
uncle " 1 — for the excellent creature was as vain as a 
peacock, — 

Geor. And so ugly ! — 

Sir John. The dear deceased ! Alas, he was, indeed ; — 
like a kangaroo in a jaundice ! And if, after all these 
marks of attachment, you are not his heiress, why then 
the finest feelings of our nature — the ties of blood — the 
principles of justice — are implanted in us in vain. 

Geor. Beautiful, sir. Was not that in your last speech 
at the Freemasons' Tavern upon the great Chimney-sweep 
Question 1 

Sir John. Clever girl ! — what a memory she has ! Sit 
down, Georgy. Upon this most happy — I mean melan- 
choly — occasion, I feel that I may trust you with a 
secret. You see this fine house — our fine servants — our 
fine plate — our fine dinners : every one thinks Sir John 
Yesey a rich man. 

Geor. And are you not, papa ? 

Sir John. Not a bit of it — all humbug, child — all 
humbug, upon my soul ! As you hazard a minnow to 
hook in a trout, so one guinea thrown out with, address is 
often the best bait for a hundred. There are two rules 
in life — First, Men are valued not for what they are, 



SCENE I.] MONEY. 305 

but what they seem to be. Secondly, If you have no 
merit or money of your own, you must trade on the 
merits and money of other people. My father got the 
title by services in the army, and died penniless. On 
the strength of his services I got a pension of £400 
a year ; 014. the strength of £400 a year I took credit for 
«£800 ; on the strength of £800 a year I married your 
mother with £10,000 ; on the strength of £10,000 I took 
credit for £40,000 and paid Dicky Gossip three guineas 
a week to go about everywhere calling me " Stingy Jack !" 

Geor. Ha ! ha ! A. disagreeable nickname. 

Sir John. But a valuable reputation. When a man is 
called stingy, it is as much as calling him rich ; and when 
a man 's called rich, why he's a man universally respected. 
On the strength of my respectability I wheedled a con- 
stituency, changed my politics, resigned my seat to a 
minister, who, to a man of such stake in. the country, 
could offer nothing less in return than a patent office of 
£2,000 a year. That's the way to succeed in life. 
Humbug, my dear ! — all humbug, upon my soul. 

Geor. I must say that you 

Sir John. Know the world, to be sure. Now, for 
your fortune, — as I spend more than my income, I can 
have nothing to leave you ; yet, even without counting 
your uncle, you have always passed for an heiress on the 
credit of your expectations from the savings of " Stingy 
Jack." The same with your education. I never grudged 
anything to make a show — never stuffed your head with 
histories and homilies ; but you draw, you sing, you dance, 
you walk well into a room ; and that's the way young 
ladies are educated nowadays, in order to become a pride 
to their parents, and a blessing to their husband — that is, 
x 



306 MONEY. [ACT I. 

when they have caught him. Apropos of a husband : 
you know we thought of Sir Frederick Blount. 

Geor. Ah, papa, he is charming. 

Sir John. He was so, my dear, before we knew your 
poor uncle was dead ; but an heiress such as you will be 
should look out for a duke. — Where the deuce is Evelyn 
this morning 1 

Geor. I've not seen him, papa. What a strange 
character he is ! — so sarcastic ; and yet he can be 



Sir John. A humorist — a cynic 1 one never knows 
how to take him. My private secretary, — a poor cousin, 
has not got a shilling, ' and yet, hang me, if he does not 
keep us all at a sort of a distance. 

Geor. But why do you take him to live with us, papa, 
since there's no good to be got by it ? 

Sir John. There you are wrong ; he has a great deal of 
talent : prepares my speeches, writes my pamphlets, looks 
up my calculations. My Report on the last Commission 
has got me a great deal of fame, and has put me at the 
head of the new one. Besides he is our cousin — he 
has no salary : kindness to a poor relation always tells 
well in the world ; and Benevolence is a useful virtue, — 
particularly when you can have it for nothing ! With 
our other cousin, Clara, it was different : her father 
thought fit to leave me her guardian, though she had 
not a penny — a mere useless encumbrance : so, you see, I 
got my half-sister, Lady Franklin, to take her off my hands. 

Geor. How much longer is Lady Franklin's visit to be ? 

Sir John. I don't know, my dear ; the longer the 
better, — for her husband left her a good deal of money at 
her own disposal. Ah, here she comes ! 



SCENE II.] MONEY. 307 



SCENE II. 

Lady Franklin, Clara, Sir John, Georgina. 

Sir John. My dear sister, we were just loud in your 
praises. But how's this 1 — not in mourning ? 

Lady Fran. Why should I go into mourning for a 
man I never saw % 

Sir John. Still, there may be a legacy. 

Lady Fran. Then there'll be less cause for affliction ! 
Ha ! ha ! my dear Sir John, I'm one of those who think 
feelings a kind of property, and never take credit for 
them upon false pretences. 

Sir John [aside]. Very silly woman ! But, Clara, I 
see you are more attentive to the proper decorum : yet 
you are very, very, very distantly connected with the 
deceased — a third cousin, I think 1 

Clara. Mi\ Mordaunt once assisted my father, and these 
poor robes are all the gratitude I can show him. 

Sir John. Gratitude ! humph ! I am afraid the minx 
has got expectations. 

Lady Frank. So, Mr. Graves is the executor — the will 
is addressed to him 1 The same Mr. Graves who is 
always in black — always lamenting his ill-fortune and his 
sainted Maria, who led him the life of a dog 1 

Sir John. The very same. His liveries are black — his 
carriage is black — he always rides a black galloway — and, 
faith, if he ever marry again, I think he will show his 
respect to the sainted Maria by marrying a black woman. 



308 MONEY. [ACT I. 

Lady Fran. Ha ! ha ! we shall see. — [4s^e.] Poor 
Graves, I always liked him : he made an excellent 
husband. 

Enter Evelyn [seats himself, and takes up a 'book 
unobserved^]. 

Sir John. What a crowd of relations this Will brings 
to light ! Mr. Stout, the Political Economist — Lord 
Glossmore — 

Lady Fran. Whose grandfather kept a pawnbroker's 
shop, and who, accordingly, entertains the profoundest 
contempt for everything popular, parvenu, and plebeian. 

Sir John. Sir Frederick Blount — 

Lady Fran. Sir Fwedewick Blount, who objects to the 
letter R as being too wough, and therefore diyops its 
acquaintance : one of the new class of prudent young 
gentlemen, who, not having spirits and constitution for 
the hearty excesses of their predecessors, intrench them- 
selves in the dignity of a lady-like languor. A man of 
fashion in the last century was riotous and thoughtless — 
in this he is tranquil and egotistical. He never does 
anything that is silly, or says anything that is wise. 
I beg your pardon, my dear ; I believe Sir Frederick is 
an admirer of yours, provided, on reflection, he does not 
see " what harm it could do him " to fall in love with 
your beauty and expectations. Then, too, our poor 
cousin the scholar — Oh, Mr. Evelyn, there you are ! 

Sir John. Evelyn — the very person I wanted : where 
have you been all day ? Have you seen to those papers ? 
— have you written my epitaph on poor Mordaunt ? — 
Latin, you know? — have you reported my speech at 
Exeter Hall 1 — have you looked out the debates on the 



SCENE II.] MOSEY. 309 

Customs ? — and, oh, have you mended up all the old pens 
in the study '? 

Gear. And have you brought me the black floss silk ? 
— have you been to Storr's for my ring 1 — and, as we 
cannot go out on this melancholy occasion, did you call 
at Hookham's for the last HB. and the Comic Annual ? 

Lady Fran. And did you see what wa3 really the 
matter with my bay horse ? — did you get me the Opera- 
box ? — did you buy my little Charley his peg-top 1 

Eve. [altoays reading]. Certainly, Paley is right upon 

that point ; for, put the syllogism thus [looking up] 

Ma'am — Sir — Miss Vesey — you want something of me 1 

Paley observes, that to assist even the undeserving 

tends to the better regulation of our charitable feelings — 
No apologies — I am quite at you service. 

Sir John. Now he's in one of his humours ! 

Lady Fran. You allow him strange liberties, Sir John. 

Eve. You will be the less surprised at that, madam, 
when I inform you that Sir John allows me nothing else. 
— I am now about to draw on his benevolence. 

Lady Fran. I beg your pardon, sir, and like your 
spirit. Sir John, I'm in the way, I see ; for I know 
your benevolence is so delicate that you never allow any 
one to detect it ! [Walks aside. 

Eve. I could not do your commissions to-day — I have 
been to visit a poor woman, who was my nurse and my 
mother's last friend. She is very poor, very — sick — dying 
— and she owes six months' rent ! 

Sir John. You know I should be most happy to do 
anything for yourself. But the nurse — [Aside. Some 
people's nurses are always ill !] — there are so many 
impostors about ! — "We'll talk of it to-morrow. This 



310 MONEY. [ACT I. 

most mournful occasion takes up all my attention. 
[Looking at his watch.] Bless me ! so late ! I've letters 
to write, and — none of the pens are mended ! [Exit. 

Geor. [taking out her purse], I think I will give it to 
him — and yet, if I don't get the fortune, after all ! — Papa 
allows me so little !- — then I must have those earrings 
[puts up the purse]. Mr. Evelyn, what is the address of 
your nurse ? 

Eve. [writes and gives it]. She has a good heart with' 
all her foibles ! — Ah ! Miss Yesey, if that poor woman 
had not closed the eyes of my lost mother, Alfred Evelyn 
would not have been this beggar to your father. 

[Clara looks over the address. 

Geor. I will certainly attend to it — [aside] if I get the 
fortune. 

Sir John [calling without]. Georgy, I say ! 

Geor. Yes, papa. [Exit. 

[Evelyn has seated himself again at the table (to the right), 
and leans his face on his hands. 

Clara. His noble spirit bowed to this ! — Ah, at least 
here I may give him comfort — [sits down to unite]. But 
he will recognize my hand. 

Lady Frank. What bill are you paying, Clara? — 
putting up a bank-note % 

Clara. Hush ! — Lady Franklin, you are the kindest 
of human beings. This is for a poor person — I would not 
have her know whence it came, or she would refuse it- 
Would you % — No, — he knows her handwriting also ! 

Lady Frank. Will I — what 1 — give the money myself? 
<vith pleasure ! Poor Clara — Why this covers all your 
savings — and I am so rich ! 

Clara. Nay, I would wish to do all myself ! — it is a 



SCENE III.] MONEY. 311 

pride — a duty — -it is a joy ; and I have so few joys ! 
But, hush ! — this way. 

[They retire into the inner room and converse in dtcmb show. 

Eve. And thus must I grind out my life for ever ! — T 
am ambitious, and Poverty drags me down j I have 
learning, and Poverty makes me the drudge of fools ! — 
I love, and Poverty stands like a spectre before the altar ! 
But no, no — if, as I believe, I am but loved again, I will 
— will — what ? — turn opium eater, and dream of the Eden 
I may never enter. 

Lady Frank, [to Clara]. Yes, I will get my maid to 
copy and direct this — she writes well, and her hand will 
never be discovered. I will have it done and sent in- 
stantly. [Exit. 
[Claea advances to the front of the stage, and seats herself — 
Evelyn reading.— Enter Sir Frederick Blount. 



SCENE III. 

Clara, Evelyn, Sir Frederick Blount. 

Blount, No one in the woom ! — Oh, Miss Douglas ! — 
Pway don't let me disturb you. Where is Miss Yesey — 
Georgina % [Taking Clara's chair as she rises. 

Eve. [looking up, gives Clara a chair and re-seats him- 
self]. [Aside.] Insolent puppy ! 

Clara. Shall I tell her you are here, Sir Frederick 1 

Blount. Not for the world. Yewy pwetty girl thi* 
companion ! 



312 MONEY. [ACT I. 

Clara. What did you think of the Panorama the other 
day, Cousin Evelyn 1 
Eve. [reading]. — 

" I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
A fine puss gentleman that's all perfume ! " 

Rather good lines these. 

Blount. Sir! 

Eve. [offering the book]. Don't you think so 1 — Cowper. 

Blount [declining the book]. Cowper ! 

Eve. Cowper. 

Blount [shrugging his shoulders, to Clara]. Stwange 
person, Mr. Evelyn ! — quite a chawacter ! — Indeed the 
Panowama gives you no idea of Naples — a delightful 
place. I make it a wule to go there e\ewy second year 
— I am vewy fond of twavelling. You'd like Worn e (Rome) 
— bad inns, but vewy fine wuins ; gives you quite a taste 
for that sort of thing ! 

Eve. [reading]. — 

" How much a dunce that has been sent to roam 
Excels a dunce that has been kept at home ! " 

Blount [aside]. That fellow Cowper says vewy odd 
things ! — Humph ! — it is beneath me to quawwell. — 
[jifowc?.] It will not take long to wead the will, I sup- 
pose. Poor old Mordaunt ! — I am his nearest male 
welation. He was vewy eccentwic. By the way, Miss 
Douglas, did you wemark my cuwicle 1 It is bwinging 
cuwicles into fashion. I should be most happy if you will 
allow me to dwive you out. Nay — nay — I should, upon 
my word. [Trying to take her hand. 

Eve. [starting up]. A wasp ! — a wasp ! — just going to 
settle. Take care of the wasp, Miss Douglas ! 

Blount. A wasp ! — where ! — don't bwing it this way, 



BCENE IV.] MONEY, 313 

— some people don't mind them ! I've a particular dis- 
like to wasps ; they sting damnably ! 
Eve. I beg pardon — it's only a gadfly. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Sir John will be happy to see you in his study, Sir 
Frederick. [Exit Servant. 

Blount. Vewy well. Upon my word, there is some- 
thing vewy nice about this girl. To be sure, I love 
Georgina — but if this one would take a fancy to me 
[thoughtfully] — Well, I don't see what harm it could do 
me ! — Au plaisir t [Exit. 



SCENE IV. 

Evelyn and Clara. 

Eve. Clara ! 

Clara. Cousin ! 

Eve. And you too are a dependent ! 

Clara. But on Lady Franklin, who seeks to make me 
forget it. 

Eve. Ay, but can the world forget it ? This insolent 
condescension — this coxcombry of admiration — more gall- 
ing than the arrogance of contempt ! Look you now — 
Robe Beauty in silk and cashmere — hand Virtue into 
her chariot — lackey their caprices — wrap them from the 
winds — fence them round with a golden circle — and Virtue 
and Beauty are as goddesses both to peasant and to prince. 



314 MONEY. [ACT I. 

Strip them of the adjuncts — see Beauty and Virtue poor 
— dependent — solitary — walking the world defenceless ! 
oh, then the devotion changes its character — the same 
crowd gather eagerly around — fools — fops — libertines — 
not to worship at the shrine, but to sacrifice the victim ! 

Clara. My cousin, you are cruel ! 

Eve. Forgive me ! There is a something when a man's 
heart is better than his fortunes, that makes even affec- 
tion bitter. Mortification for myself — it has ceased to 
chafe me. I can mock where I once resented. But you 
— YOU, so delicately framed and nurtured — one slight to 
you — one careless look — one disdainful tone — makes me 
feel the true curse of the poor man. His pride gives armour 
to his own breast, but it has no shield to protect another. 

Clara. But I, too, have pride of my own — I, too, can 
smile at the pointless insolence 

Eve. Smile — and he took your hand ! Oh, Clara, you 
know not the tortures that I suffer hourly ! When others 
approach you — young — fair — rich — the sleek darlings 
of the world — I accuse you of your very beauty — I writhe 
beneath every smile that you bestow. No — speak not ! — 
my heart has broken its silence, and you shall hear the 
rest. For you I have endured the weary bondage of this 
house — the fool's gibe — the hireling's sneer — the bread 
purchased by toils that should have led me to loftier 
ends : yes, to see you — hear you — breathe the same air — 
be ever at hand — that if others slighted, from one at least 
you might receive the luxury of respect : — for this — for 
this I have lingered, suffered, and forborne. Oh ! Clara, 
we are orphans both — friendless both : you are all in the 
world to me: turn not away — my very soul speaks in 
these words — I love you ! 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 

Clara. No — Evelyn — Alfred — Xo ! say it not ; think 
it not ! it were madness. 

Eve. Madness ! — nay, hear me yet. I am poor, penni- 
less — a beggar for bread to a dying servant. True ! — But 
I have a heart of iron ! I have knowledge — patience — 
health, — and my love for you gives me at last ambition ! 
I have trifled with my own energies till now, for I de- 
spised all things till I loved you. With you to toil for — 
your step to support — your path to smooth — and I — I 
poor Alfred Evelyn — promise at last to win for you even 
fame and fortune ! Do not withdraw your hand — this 
hand — shall it not be mine 1 

Clara. Ah, Evelyn ! Never — never ! 

Eve. Never. - 

Clara. Forget this folly ; our union is impossible, and 
to talk of love were to deceive both ! 

Eve. [bitterly]. Because I am poor ! 

Clara. And / too I A marriage of privation — of 
penury — of days that dread the morrow ! I have seen 
such a lot ! Never return to this again. 

Eve. Enough — you are obeyed. I deceived myself — 
ha ! — ha ! — I fancied that I too was loved. I, whose 
youth is already half gone with care and toil ! — whose 
mind is soured — whom nobody can love — who ought to 
have loved no one ! 

Clara [aside]. And if it were only / to suffer, or per- 
haps to starve 1 ? — Oh ; what shall I say? [Aloud.] Evelyn 
- — Cousin 1 

Eve. Madam. 

Clara. Alfred— I— I— 

Eve. Reject me ! 

Clara. Yes ! It is past ! [Eocit. 



316 MONEY. [ACT I. 

Eve. Let me think. It was yesterday her hand trembled 
when mine touched it. And the rose I gave her — yes, 
fihe pressed her lips to it once when she seemed as if she 
saw me not. But it was a trap — a trick — for I was as 
poor then as now. This will be a jest for them all ! Well, 
courage ! it is but a poor heart that a coquet's contempt 
can break ! And now, that I care for no one, the world 
is but a great chess-board, and I will sit down in earnest 
and play with Fortune ! 

Enter Lord Glossmore, preceded by Servant. 

Ser. I will tell Sir John, my Lord ! 

[Evelyn takes up the newspaper. 

Gloss. The secretary — hum ! Fine day, sir ; any news 
from the East 1 

Eve. Yes ! — all the wise men have gone back there ! 

Gloss. Ha, ha ! — not all, for here comes Mr. Stout, the 
great political economist. 



SCENE V. 
Stout, Glossmore, Evelyn. 

Stout Good morning, Glossmore. 

Gloss. Glossmore ! — the parvenu ! 

Stout. Afraid I might be late — been detained at the 
Vestry — Astonishing how ignorant the English poor are ! 
Took me an hour and a half to beat it into the head of a 
stupid old widow, with nine children, that to allow her 



8CENE V.] MONEY. 317 

three shillings a week was against all the rule.; of public 
morality ! 

Eve. Excellent ! — admirable ! — your hand, sir ! 

Gloss. What ! you approve such doctrines, Mr. Evelyn? 
Are old women only fit to be starved 1 

Eve. Starved ! popular delusion ! Observe, my Lord 
—to squander money upon those who starve is only to 
afford encouragement to starvation ! 

Stout. A very superior person that ! 

Gloss. Atrocious principles ! Give me the good old 
times, when it was the duty of the rich to succour the 
distressed. 

Eve. On second thoughts, you are right, my Lord. I, 
too, know a poor womann — ill — dying — in want. Shall 
she, too, perish 1 

Gloss. Perish ! horrible ! — in a Christian country ! 
Perish 1 Heaven forbid ! 

Eve. [folding out his ha/nd\ What, then, will you give 
her? 

Gloss. Ehem ! Sir — the parish ought to give. 

Stout. No ! — no ! — no ! Certainly not ! [with great 
vehemence]. 

Gloss. No ! no ! But I say, yes ! yes ! And if the 
parish refuse to maintain the poor, the only way left to a 
man of firmness and resolution, holding the principles 
that I do, and adhering to the constitution of our fathers, 
is to force the poor o?» the parish by never giving them 
a farthing one's self 



318 MONEY. [ACT 1- 



SCENE VI. 

Sir John, Blount, Lady Franklin,. Georgina, 
Glossmore, Stout, Evelyn. 

Sir John. How d'ye do ? — Ah ! How d'ye do, gentle- 
men % This is a most melancholy meeting ! The poor 
deceased ! what a man he was ! 

Blount. I was thwistened Fwedewick after him ! He 
was my first cousin. 

Sir John. And Georgina his own niece — next of 
kin ! — an excellent man, though odd — a kind heart, but 
no liver ! I sent him twice a year thirty dozen of the 
Cheltenham waters. It's a comfort to reflect on these 
little attentions at such a time. 

Stout. And I, too, sent him the Parliamentary debates 
regularly, bound in calf. He was my second cousin — 
sensible man — and a follower of Malthus : never married 
to increase the surplus population, and fritter away his 
money on his own children. And now 

Eve. He reaps the benefit of celibacy in the prospective 
gratitude of every cousin he had in the world ! 

Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Sir John. Hush ! hush ! decency, Lady Franklin ; de- 
cency ! 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Mr. Graves — Mr. Sharp. 

Sir John. Oh, here's Mr. Graves ; that's Sharp the 
lawyer, who brought the will from Calcutta, 



SCENE VII-1 MONEY. 319 



SCENE VII. 

Graves, Sharp, Sir John, &c. 
Chorus of Sir John, Glossmore, Blount, Stout. 

Ah, sir — Ah, Mr. Graves ! 

[Georgina holds her handkerchief to her eyes, 

Sir John. A sad occasion ! 

Graves. But everything in life is sad. Be comforted, 
Miss Vesey. True, you have lost an uncle ; but I — I 
have lost a wife — such a wife ! — the first of her sex — 
and the second cousin of the defunct ! Excuse me, Sir 
John ; at the sight of your mourning my wounds bleed 
afresh. [Servants hand round wine and sandwiches. 

Sir John. Take some refreshment — a glass of wine. ' 

Graves. Thank you ! — (very fine sherry !) — Ah ! my 
poor sainted Maria ! Sherry was her wine : everything 
reminds me of Maria ! Ah, Lady Franklin ! you knew 
her. Nothing in life can charm me now. — [.isz'cfe.] A 
monstrous fine woman that ! 

Sir John. And now to business. Evelyn, you may 
retire. 

Sharp [looking at his notes]. Evelyn — any relation to 
Alfred Evelyn ? 

Eve. The same. 

Sharp. Cousin to the deceased, seven times removed. 
Be seated, sir ; there may be some legacy, though trifling : 
all the relations, however distant, should be present. 



320 1 MONEY. [ACT I. 

Lady Fran. Then Clara is related — I will go for her. 

[Exit. 
Geor. Ah, Mr. Evelyn; I hope you will come in for 
something — a few hundreds, or even more. 

Sir John. Silence ! Hush ! Wugh ! ugh ! Attention ! 

[While the Lawyer opens the tvill, rc : mter Lady Fuanklin 
and Claka. 

Sharp. The will is very short — being all personal 
property. He was a man that always came to the point. 

Sir John. I wish there were more like him ! — [Groans 
and shakes his head.] 

[Chorus groan and shake their heads. 

Sharp [reading]. "I, Frederick James Mordaunt, of 
Calcutta, being at the present date of sound mind, 
though infirm body, do hereby give, will and bequeath — 
Inprimis, To my second cousin, Benjamin Stout, Esq., of 

Pall Mall, London [Chorus exhibit lively emotion. 

Being the value of the Parliamentary Debates with 
which he has been pleased to trouble me for some time 
past — deducting the carriage thereof, which he always 
forgot to pay — the sum of £14. 2s. id. 

[Chorus breathe more freely. 

Stout. Eh, what 1— £U ? Oh, hang the old miser ! 

Sir John. Decency — decency ! Proceed, sir. 

Sharp. " Item. — To Sir Frederick Blount, Baronet, my 

nearest male relative " 

[Chorus exhibit lively emotion. 

Blount. Poor old boy ! 

[Georgina puts her arm over Blount's chair. 

Sharp. " Being, as I am informed, the best-dressed 
young gentleman in London, and in testimony to the 



SCENE VII.] MONEY. 321 

only merit I ever heard he possessed, the sum of £500 
to buy a dressing-case." 

[Chorus breathe more freely ; Geobgina catclvesher father's 
eye, and removes her arm. 

Blount [laughing confusedly]. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Vewy 
poor wit — low ! — vewy — vewy low ! 

Sir John. Silence, now, will you ? 

Sharp. " Item. — To Charles Lord Glossmore — who 
asserts that he is my relation — my collection of dried 
butterflies, and the pedigree of the Mordaunts from the 
reign of King John." [Chorus as be/ore. 

Gloss. Butterflies ! — Pedigree ! — I disown the plebeian ! 

Sir John [angrily]. Upon my word, this is too revolting ! 
Decency ! Go on. 

Sharp. " Item. — To Sir John Yesey, Baronet, Knight 
of the Guelph, F.R.S., F.S. A., &c." [Chorus as before. 

Sir John. Hush ! Now it is really interesting ! 

Sharp. " Who married my sister, and who sends me 
every year the Cheltenham waters, which nearly gave me 
my death, I bequeath — the empty bottles." 

Sir John. Why, the ungrateful, rascally, old 

Chorus. Decency, Sir John — decency. 

Sharp. " Item. — To Henry Graves, Esq., of the- 
Albany " [Chorus as before. 

Graves. Pooh ! gentlemen — my usual luck — not even 
a riDg, I dare swear ! 

Sharp. « The sum of £5,000 in the Three per Cents." 

Lady Fran. I wish you joy ! 

Graves. Joy — pooh ! Three per Cents ! — Funds sure 
to go ! Had it been kmd, now— though only an acre !— • 
just like my luck. 



32£ MONEY, [act II. 

Sharp. " Item. — To my niece Georgina Vesey " 

[Chorus as before. 

Sir John. Ah, now it comes ! 

Sharp. "The sum of £10,000 India Stock, being, with 
her father's reputed savings, as much as a single woman 
ought to possess." 

Sir John. And what the devil, then, does the old fool 
do with all his money 1 

Chorus. Really, Sir John, this is too revolting. 
Decency ! Hush ! 

Sharp. "And, with the aforesaid legacies and exceptions, 
I do will and bequeath the whole of my fortune, in India 
Stock, Bonds, Exchequer Bills, Three per Cent. Consols, 
and in the Bank of Calcutta, (constituting him hereby 
sole residuary legatee and joint executor with the afore- 
said Henry Graves, Esq.) to Alfred Evelyn, now, or 
formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge — 

[ Universal excitement. 
Being, I am told, an oddity, like myself — the only one 
of my relations who never fawned on me ; and, who 
having known privation, may the better employ wealth." 
— And now, Sir, I have only to wish you joy, and give 
you this letter from the deceased — I believe it is 
important. 

Eve. [crossing over to Clara]. Ah, Clara, if you had 
but loved me ! 

Clara [turning away]. And his wealth, even more than 
poverty, separates us for ever ! 

[Omnes crowd round to congratulate Evelyn. 

Sir John [to Georgina]. Go, child— put a good face on 
it — he's an immense match ! My dear fellow, I wish you 
joy*: you are a great man now — a very great man ! 



SCENE I.] MONEY. 323 

Eve. [aside]. And her voice alone is silent ! 

Lord Gloss. If I can be of any use to you 

Stout. Or I, sir 

Blount. Or I ! Shall I put you up at the clubs 1 

Sharp. You will want a man of business. I transacted 
all Mr. Mordaunt's affairs. 

Sir John. Tush, tush ! Mr. Evelyn is at home here — 
always looked on him as a son ! Nothing in the world 
we would not do for him ! Nothing ! 

Eve. Lend me £10 for my old nurse ! 

[Chorus put their hands into their pockets. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 

An anteroom m Evelyn's new house; at one corner, behind a 
large screen, Mb. Sharp writing at a desk, boohs and parchments 
before him. — Mb. Crimson, the portrait-painter; Mb. Gbab, the 
publisher; Mb. MacStucco, the architect; Mb. Taboubet, the 
wpholsterer ; Mb. MacFinch, the silversmiih; Mb. Patent, the 
coachmaker; Mb. Kite, the horse-dealer; and Mr. Fbantz, the 
tailor. — (Servants cross to and fro the stage.) 

Patent [to Erantz, showing a drawing]. Yes, sir ; this 
is the Evelyn vis-a-vis ! No one more the fashion than 
Mr. Evelyn. Money makes the man, sir. 

Frantz. But de tailor, de Schneider, make de gentle- 
man ! It is Mr. Frantz, of St. James's, who take his 
measure and his cloth, and who make de fine handsome 
noblemen and gentry, where de faders and de mutters 
make only de ugly little naked boys ! 
y 2 



324 MONEY. [act II. 

Macstuc. He's a mon o' teeste, Mr. Evelyn. He taulks 
o' buying a veela (villa), just to pool down and build 
oop again. — Ah, Mr. Macfinch ! a design for a piece of 
pleete, eh ? 

Macfinch [slwwing the drawing]. Yees, sir ; the shield o' 
Alexander the Great, to hold ices and lemonade ! It 
will coost two thousand poon' ! 

Macstuc. And it's dirt cheap — ye're Scotch, arn't ye ? 

Macfinch. Aberdounshire ! — scraitch me, and 111 
scraitch you ! 

[Door at the back thrown open.— Enter Evelyn. 

Eve. A levee, as usual. Good day. Ah, Tabouret, 
your designs for the draperies ; very welL And what do 
you want, Mr. Crimson 1 

Crim. Sir, if you'd let me take your portrait, it would 
make my fortune. Every one says you're the finest judge 
of paintings. 

Eve. Of paintings ! paintings ! Are you sure I'm a 
judge of paintings 1 

Crim. Oh, sir, didn't you buy the great Correggio for 
4,000. 

Eve. True — I see. So £4,000 makes me an excellent 
judge of paintings. I'll call on you, Mr. Crimson, — good 
day. Mr. Grab — oh, you're the publisher who once 
refused me £5 for a poem 1 You are right, it was a sad 
doggerel. 

Grab. Doggerel ! Mr. Evelyn, it was sublime ! But 
times were bad then. 

Eve. Very bad times with me. 

Grab. But now, sir, if you will give me the preference, 
I'll push it, sir,— I'll push it ! I only publish for poets 



SCENE I.] MO^EY. 325 

in high life, sir ; and a gentleman of your station ought 
to be pushed ! — £500 for the poem, sir ! 

Eve. ,£500 when I don't want it, where £5 once would 
have seemed a fortune. 

" Now I am rich, what value in the lines ! 
How the wit brightens — how the sense refines ! " 

[Turns to the rest who surround him. 

Kite. Thirty young horses from Yorkshire, sir ! 

Patent [showing drawing]. The Evelyn vis-a-vis ! 

Macfinch [showing drawing]. The Evelyn salver ! 

Frantz [opening his bundle, and with dignity]. Sare, I 
have brought de coat — de great Evelyn coat. 

Eve. Oh, go to that is, go home ! Make me as 
celebrated for vis-a-vis, salvers,, furniture, and coats, as I 
already am for painting, and shortly shall be for poetry. 
I resign myself to you — go ! 

[Exeunt Macfinch, Patent, &c. 
Enter Stout. 

Eve. Stout, you look heated ! 

Stout. I hear you have just bought the great Grogin- 
hole property. 

Eve. It is true. Sharp says it's a bargain. 

Stov.t. "Well, my dear friend Hopkins, member for 
Groginhole, can't live another month — but the interests 
of mankind forbid regret for individuals ! The patriot 
Popkins intends to start for the borough the instant 
Hopkins is dead ! — your interest will secure his election ! 
— now is your time ! put yourself forward in the march 

of enlightenment ! By all that is bigoted, here comes 

Glossmore ! 



MONEY. [ACT XI. 



SCENE II. 
Stout, Glossmore, Evelyn ; Sharp still at his desk 

Gloss. So lucky to find you at home ! Hopkins, of 
Groginhole, is not long for this world. Popkins, the 
brewer, is already canvassing underhand (so very 
ungentlemanlike !). Keep your interest for young Lord 
Cipher — a most valuable candidate. This is an awful 
moment — the constitution depends on his return ! Vote 
for Cipher. 

Stout. Popkins is your man ! 

Eve. [musingly]. Cipher and Popkins — Popkins and 
Cipher ! Enlightenment and Popkins — Cipher and the 
Constitution ! I am puzzled ! Stout, I am not known 
at Groginhole. 

Stout. Your property's known there ! 

Eve. But purity of election — independence of votes 

Stout. To be sure : Cipher bribes abominably^ Frustrate 
his schemes — preserve the liberties of the borough — turn 
every man out of his house who votes against enlighten- 
ment and Popkins ! 

Eve. Right ! — down with those who take the liberty 
to admire any liberty except our liberty ! That is liberty ! 

Gloss. Cipher has a stake in the country — will have 
£50,000 a year — Cipher will never give a vote without 
considering beforehand how people of £50,000 a year will 
be affected by the motion. 

Eve. Right : for as without law there would be no pro- 



SCENE II.] MONEY. 327 

perty, so to be the law for property is the only proper 
property of law ! — That is law ! 

Stout. Popkins is all for economy — there's a sad waste 
of the public money — they give the Speaker ,£5,000 a year, 
when I've a brother-in-law who takes the chair at the 
vestry, and who assures me confidentially he'd consent to 
be speaker for half the money ? 

Gloss. Enough, Mr. Stout. — Mr. Evelyn has too much 
at stake for a leveller. 

/Stout. And too much sense for a bigot. 

Eve. Mr. Evelyn has no politics at all ! — Did you ever 
play at battledore ? 

Both. Battledore? 

Eve. Battledore ! — that is a contest between two par- 
ties : both parties knock about something with singular 
skill — something is kept up — high — low — here — there — 
everywhere — nowhere ! How grave are the players ! 
how anxious the bystanders ! how noisy the battledores ! 
But when this something falls to the ground, only fancy 
— it's nothing but cork and feather ! Go, and play by 
yourselves — I'm no hand at it ! 

Stout [aside~\. Sad ignorance ! — Aristocrat ! 

Gloss. Heartless principles ! — Parvenu ! 

Stout. Then you don't go against us ? — I'll bring Pop- 
kins to-morrow. 

Gloss. Keep yourself free till I present Cipher to you. 

Stout. I must go to inquire after Hopkins. The return 
of Popkins will be an era in history. [Exit. 

Gloss. I must be off to the club — the eyes of the country 

are upon Groginhole. If Cipher fail, the constitution is 

gone! [Exit. 

?. Both sides alike ! Money versus Man ! — Sharp, 



328 MONEY. [act II. 

come here — let me look at you ! You are my agent, my 
lawyer, my man of business. I believe you honest ; — but 
what is honesty ? — where does it exist ? — in what part 
of us? 

Sharp. In the heart, I suppose, sir. 

Eve. Mr. Sharp, it exists in the breeches-pocket ! Ob- 
serve : I lay this piece of yellow earth on the table — I 
contemplate you both ; the man there — the gold here ! 
Now, there is many a man in those streets honest as you 
are, who moves, thinks, feels and reasons as well as we 
do j excellent in form — imperishable in soul ; who, if his 
pockets were three days empty, would sell thought, reason, 
body, and soul too, for that little coin ! Is that the fault 
of the man 1 — no ! it is the fault of mankind 1 God made 
man ; behold what mankind have made a god ! When I 
was poor, I hated the world ; now I am rich, I despise it ! 

Fools — knaves — hypocrites ! By the bye, Sharp, send 

£100 to the poor bricklayer whose house was burned 

down yesterday 

Enter Gkaves. 

Ah, Graves, my dear friend ! what a world this is ! — 
a cur of a world, that fawns on its master, and bites the 
beggar ! Ha ! ha ! it fawns on me now, for the beggar 
has bought the cur. 

Graves. It is an atrocious world ! — But astronomers 
say that there is a travelling comet which must set it on 
fire one day, — and that's some comfort ! 

Eve. Every hour brings its gloomy lesson — the temper 
sours — the affections wither — the heart hardens into 
stone ! Zounds, Sharp ! what do you stand gaping there 
for 1 — have you no bowels ? — why don't you go and see to 
the bricklayer ? [Exit Sharp. 



SCENE III.] MONET. 329 



SCENE III. 
Graves and Evelyn. 

Eve. Graves, of all my new friends — and their name is 
Legion — you are the only one I esteem ; there is sym- 
pathy between us — we take the same views of life. I am 
cordially glad to see you ! 

Graves [groaning]. Ah ! why should you be glad to see 
a man so miserable 1 

Eve. Because I am miserable mysell" 

Graves. You ! Pshaw ! you have not been condemned 
to lose a wife ! 

Eve. But, plague on it, man, I may be condemned to 
take one ! — Sit down, and listen. I want a confidant ! — 
Left fatherless, when yet a boy, my poor mother grudged 
herself food to give me education. Some one had told 
her that learning was better than house and land — that's 
a lie, Graves. 

Graves. A scandalous lie, Evelyn ! 

Eve. On the strength of that lie I was put to school — 
sent to college, a sizar. Do you know what a sizar is 1 
In pride he is a gentleman — in knowledge he is a scholar 
— and he crawls about, amidst gentlemen and scholars, with 
the livery of a pauper on his back ! I carried off the great 
prizes — I became distinguished — I looked to a high degree, 
leading to a fellowship ; that is, an independence for 
myself — a home for my mother. One day a young lord 
insulted me — I retorted — he struck me — refused apology 



330 MONEY. [ACT II. 

— refused redress. I was a sizar ! — a Pariah ! — a thing to 
be struck ! Sir, I was at least a mau, and I horsewhipped 
him in the hall before the eyes of the whole College ! A 
few days, and the lord's chastisement was forgotten. The 
next day the sizar was expelled — the career of a life 
blasted ! That is the difference between Rich and Poor : 
it takes a whirlwind to move the one — a breath may 
uproot the other ! I came to London. As long as my 
mother lived, I had one to toil for ; and I did toil — did hope 
— did struggle to be something yet. She died, and then, 
somehow, my spirit broke — I resigned myself to my fate ; 
the Alps above me seemed too high to ascend— J[ ceased io 
care what became of me. At last I submitted to be the 
poor relation — the hanger-on and gentleman-lackey of Sir 
John Yesey. But I had an object in that — there was one 
in that house whom I had loved at the first sight. 

Graves. And were you loved again ? 

Eve. I fancied it, and was deceived. Not an hour 
before I inherited this mighty wealth I confessed my love 
and was rejected because I was poor. Now, mark : you 
remember the letter which Sharp gave me when the will 
was read ? 

Graves. Perfectly ; what were the contents 1 

Eve. After hints, cautions, and admonitions — half in 
irony, half in earnest (Ah, poor Mordaunt had known tbe 
world !), it proceeded — -but I'll read it to you : — " Having 
selected you as my heir, because I think money a trust to 
be placed where it seems likely to be best employed, I 
now — not impose a condition, but ask a favour. If you 
have formed no other and insuperable attachment, I could 
wish to suggest your choice : my two nearest female re- 
lations are my niece Georgina, and my third cousin, Clara 



SCENE III.] MONEY. 331 

Douglas, the daughter of a once dear friend. If you could 
see in either of these one whom you could make your wife, 
such would be a marriage that, if I live long enough to 
return to England, I would seek to bring about before I 
die." My friend, this is not a legal conditio — the fortune 
does not rest on it ; yet, need I say that mv gratitude con- 
siders it a moral obligation 1 Several months have elapsed 
since thus called upon — I ought now to decide : you hear 
the names — Clara Douglas is the woman who rejected 
me ! 

Graves. But now she would accept you ! 

Eve. And do you think I am so base a slave to passion, 
that I would owe to my gold what was denied to my 
affection 1 

Graves. But you must choose one, in common gratitude ; 
you ought to do so — yes, there you are right. Besides, 
you are constantly at the house — the world observes it : 
you must have raised liopes in one of the girls. Yes ; it 
is time to decide between her whom you love and her 
whom you do not ! 

Eve. Of the two, then, I would rather marry where I 
should exact the least. A marriage, to which each can 
bring sober esteem and calm regard, may not be happiness, 
but it may be content. But to marry one whom you 
could adore, and whose heart is closed to you — to yearn 
for the treasure, and only to claim the casket — to worship 
the statue that you never may warm to life — Oh ! such a 
marriage would be a hell, the more terrible because Para- 
dise was in sight. 

Graves. Georgina is pretty, but vain and frivolous. — 
[jlsicZe.] But he has no right to be fastidious — he has 
never known Maria ! — [Aloud.] Yes, my dear friend, 



332 MONEY. [ACT II. 

now I think on it, you will be as wretched as myself ! — 
When you are married, we will mingle our groans together ! 

Eve. You may misjudge Georgina; she may have a 
nobler nature than appears on the surface. On the day, 
but before the hour, in which the will was read, a letter, 
in a strange or disguised hand, signed " From an unknown 
friend to Alfred Evelyn? and enclosing what to a girl 
would have been a considerable sum, was sent to a poor 
woman for whom I had implored charity, and whose 
address I had only given to Georgina. 

Graves. Why not assure yourself? 

Eve. Because I have not dared. For sometimes, against 
my reason, I have hoped that it might be Clara ! [taking 
a letter from his bosom and looking at it]. No, I can't 
recognize the hand. Graves, I detest that girl. 

Graves. Who ? Georgina 1 

Eve. No ; Clara ! But I've already, thank Heaven ! 
taken some revenge upon her. Come nearer. — [Whispers.] 
I've bribed Sharp to say that Mordaunt's letter to me 
contained a codicil leaving Clara Douglas £20,000. 

Graves. And didn't it 1 How odd, then, not to have 
mentioned her in his will ! 

Eve. One of his caprices : besides, Sir John wrote him 
word that Lady Franklyn had adopted her. But I'm glad 
of it — I've paid the money — she's no more a dependent. 
No one can insult her now — she owes it all to me, and 
does not guess it, man — does not guess it ! — owes it to me, 
— me, whom she rejected ; — me, the poor scholar ! — Ha ! 
ha ! — there's some spite in that, eh % 

Graves. You're a fine fellow, Evelyn, and we under- 
stand each other. Perhaps Clara may have seen the 
.address, and dictated this letter after all ! 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 333 

Eve. Do you think so? — I'll go to the house this instant ! 

Graves. Eh 1 Humph ! Then I'll go with you. Thai 
Lady Franklin is a fine woman ! If she were not so gay, 
I think — I could 

Eve. No, no ; don't think any such thing ; women 
are even worse than men. 

Graves. True ; to love is a boy's madness ! 

Eve. To feel is to suffer. 

Graves. To hope is to be deceived. 

Eve. I have done with romance ! 

Graves. Mine is buried with Maria ! 

Eve. If Clara did but write this 

Gh-aves. Make haste, or Lady Franklin will be out ! — 
A vale of tears ! — a vale of tears ! 

Eve. A vale of tears, indeed ! [ExeuntL 

Re-enter Graves for his hat. 

Graves. And I left my hat behind me ! Just like my 
luck ! If I had been bred a hatter, little boys would 
have come into the world without heads.* \Exit. 



SCENE IV. 

Drawing-rooms at Sir John Veset's, as in Act I., Scene I. 

Lady Franklin, Clara, Servant. 

Lady Frank. Past two, and I have so many places to 
go to ! Tell Philipps I want the carriage directly — in- 
stantly. 

* For this melancholy jest Mr. Graves is indebted to a poor 
Italian poet. 



334 MONEY [ACT II. 

Ser. I ' beg pardon, my Lady ; Philipps told me to say 
the young horse had fallen lame, and could not be used 
to-day. [Exit. 

Lady Frank. Well, on second thoughts, that is lucky ; 
now I have an excuse for not making a great many tedious 
visits. I must borrow Sir John's horses for the ball to- 
night. Oh, Clara, you must see my new turban from 
Carson's — the prettiest thing in the world, and so be- 
coming ! 

Clara. Ah, Lady Franklin, you'll be so sorry — but — 
but 

Lady Frank. But what ? 

Clara. Such a misfortune ! poor Smith is in tears — I 
promised to break it to you. Your little Charley had 
been writing his copy, and spilt the ink on the table ; 
and Smith not seeing it — and taking out the turban to 
put in the pearls as you desired — she — she 

Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! laid it on the table, and the 
ink spoilt it. Ha ! ha ! — how well I can fancy the face 
she made ! Seriously, on the whole it is fortunate ; for 
I think I look best, after all, in the black hat and feathers. 

Clara. Dear Lady Franklin, you really have the sweetest 
temper ! 

Lady Frank. I hope so — for it's the most becoming 
turban a woman can wear ! Think of that when you 
marry. Oh, talking of marriage, I've certainly made a 
conquest of Mr. Graves. 

Clara. Mr. Graves ! I thought he was inconsolable. 

Lady Frank. For his sainted Maria ! Poor man ! not 
contented with plaguing him while she lived, she must 
needs haunt him now she is dead. 

Clara. But why does he regret her? 



SCENE IV. J MONEY. 335 

Lady Frank. Why 1 Because he has everything to 
make him happy — easy fortune, good health, respectable 
character. And since it is his delight to be miserable, he 
takes the only excuse the world will allow him. For the 
res t — it's the way with widowers ; that is, whenever they 
mean to marry again. But, my dear Clara, you seem ab- 
sent — pale — unhappy — tears, too 1 

Clara. No — no — not tears. No ! 

Lady Frank. Ever since Mr. Mordaunt left you £20,000 
everyone admiresyou. Sir Frederick is desperately smitten. 

Clara [with disdain]. Sir Frederick ! 

Lady Frank. Ah ! Clara, be comforted — I know your 
secret : I am certain that Evelyn loves you. 

Clara. He did — it is past now. He misconceived me 
when he was poor ; and now he is rich, it is not for me to 
explain. 

Lady Frank. My dear child, happiness is too rare to be 
sacrificed to a scruple. Why does he come here so often? 

Clara. Perhaps for Georgina, ! 

Enter Sir John, and turns over the books, &c, on the table, 
as if to look for the newspaper. 

Lady Frank. Pooh ! Georgina is my niece ; she is 
handsome and accomplished — but her father's worldliness 
has spoilt her nature — she is not worthy of Evelyn ! Be- 
hind the humour of his irony there is something noble — 
something that may yet be great. For his sake as well 
us yours, let me at least 

Clara. Becomraend me to his pity % Ah, Lady Frank- 
lin ! if he addressed me from dictation, I should again 
refuse him. No ; if he cannot read my heart — if he will 
not seek to read it, let it break unknown. 



336 money. [act ir. 

Lady Frank. You mistake me, my dear child : let me 
only tell him that you dictated that letter — that you sent 
that money to his old nurse. Poor Clara ! it was your 
little all. He will then know, at least, if avarice be your sin. 

Clara. He would have guessed it had his love have been 
like mine. 

Lady Frank. Guessed it! — nonsense! The hand- 
writing unknown to him — every reason to think it came 
from Georgina. 

Sir John \aside\. Hum ! Came from Georgina ! 

Lady Frank. Come, let me tell him this. I know the 
effect it would have upon his choice. 

Clara. Choice ! oh, that humiliating word ! No, Lady 
Franklin, no ! Promise me ! 

Lady Frank. But 

Clara. No ! Promise — faithfully — sacredly. 

Lady Frank. Well, I promise. 

Clara. You know how fearful is my character — no 
infant is more timid : if a poor spider cross the floor, you 
often laugh %o see me grow pale and tremble ; and yet I 
would lay this hand upon the block — I would walk bare- 
foot over the ploughshare of the old ordeal — to save 
Alfred Evelyn one moment's pain. But I have refused to 
share his poverty, and I should die with shame if he 
thought I had now grown enamoured of his wealth. My 
kind friend, you will keep your promise ? 

Lady Frank. Yes, since it must be so. 

Clara. Thanks. I — I — forgive me — I am not well. 

[Exit. 

Lady Frank. What fools these girls are ! — they take 
as much pains to lose a husband as a poor widow does to 
get one 1 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 337 

Sir John. Have you seen " The Times" newspaper? 
Where the deuce is the newspaper 1 I can't find " The 
Times" newspaper. 

Lady Frank. I think it is in my room. Shall I fetch it 1 

Sir John. My dear sister — you're the best creature. 
Do ! [Exit Lady Franklin. 

Ugh ! you unnatural conspirator against your own 
family ! What can this letter be 1 Ah ! I recollect 
something. 

Enter Georgina. 

Geor. Papa, I want 

Sir John. Yes, I know what you want well enough ! 
Tell me — were you aware that Clara had sent money 
to that old nurse Evelyn bored us about the day of the 
will? 

Geor. No ! He gave me the address, and I promised, 
if 

Sir John. Gave you the address ? — that's lucky ! Hush ! 

Enter Servant. ^ 

Mr. Graves — Mr. Evelyn. 



SCENE V. 

Graves, Evelyn, Sir John, Georgina, Lady Franklin. 

Lady Frank, [returning]. Here is the newspaper. 
Graves. Ay — read the newspapers ! — they'll tell you 
what this world is made of. Daily calendars of roguery 
z 



338 MONEY. [act II. 

and woe ! Here, advertisements from quacks, money- 
lenders, cheap warehouses, and spotted boys with two 
heads. So much for dupes and impostors ! Turn to the 
other column — police reports, bankruptcies, swindling, 
forgery, and a biographical sketch of the snub-nosed man 
who murdered his own three little cherubs at Pentonville. 
Do you fancy these but exceptions to the general virtue 
and health of the nation 1 — Turn to the leading articles ; 
and your hair will stand on end at the horrible wickedness 
or melancholy idiotism of that half the population who 
think differently from yourself. In my clay I have seen 
already eighteen crises, six annihilations of Agriculture 
and Commerce, four overthrows of the Church, and three 
last, final, awful, and irremediable destructions of the 
entire Constitution. And that's a newspaper ! 

Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! your usual vein ! always so 
amusing and good-humoured ! 

Graves [frowning and very angry]. Ma'am — good- 
humoured ! 

Lady Frank. Ah ! you should always wear that agree- 
able smile ; you look so much younger — so much hand- 
somer — when you smile ! 

Graves [softened]. Ma'am A charming creature, 

upon my word ! 

Lady Frank. You have not seen the last HB. ? It is 
excellent. I think it might make you laugh. But, by 
the bye, I don't think you can laugh. 

Graves. Ma'am — I have not laughed since the death of 
my sainted Ma 

Lady Frank. Ah ! and that spiteful Sir Frederick says 
you never laugh, because But you'll be angry I 

Graves. Angry ! — pooh ! I despise Sir Frederick too 



8CENE V.] MONEY. 339 

much to let anything he says have the smallest influence 
over me ! He says I don't laugh, because 

Lady Frank. You have lost your front teeth ! 

Graves. Lost my front teeth ! Upon my word ! Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! That's too good — capital ! Ha ! ha ! ha 1 
[laughing from ear to ear\. 

Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

[They retire to the table in the inner drawing-room. 

Eve [aside\. Of course Clara will not appear ! — avoids 
me as usual ! But what do I care ? — what is she to me % 
Nothing ! I'll swear this is her glove ! — no one else has 
so small a hand. She'll miss it — so — so — ! Nobody's 
looking — I'll keep it, just to vex her. 

Sir John [to Georgina]. Yes — yes — leave me to 
manage : you took his portrait, as I told you 1 

Geor. Yes — but I could not catch the expression. I 
got Clara to touch it up. 

Sir John. That girl's always in the way ! 

Enter Captain Dudley Smooth. 

Smooth. Good morning, dear John. Ah, Miss Vesey r 
you have no idea of the conquests you made at Almack's 
last night ! 

Eve. [examining him ciwiously while Smooth is talking 
to Georgina.] And that's the celebrated Dudley Smooth ! 

Sir John. More commonly called Deadly Smooth ! — 
the finest player at whist, ecarte, billiards, chess, and 
picquet, between this and the Pyramids — the sweetest 
manners ! — always calls you by your Christian name. But 
take care how you play at cards with him ! 

Eve. He does not cheat, I suppose 1 

Sir John. Hist ! No ! — but he always wins I Eats 
z 2 



340 MONEl [act II. 

up a brace of lords and a score or two of guardsmen 
every season, and runs through a man's fortune like a 
course of the Carlsbad waters. He's an uncommonly 
clever fellow ! 

Eve. Clever % yes ! When a man steals a loaf we cry 
down the knavery — when a man diverts his neighbour's 
mill-stream to grind his own corn, we cry up the clever- 
ness ! — And every one courts Captain Dudley Smooth ! 

Sir John. "Why, who could offend him 1 — the best-bred, 
civillest creature — and a dead shot ! There is not a 
cleverer man in the three kingdoms. 

Eve. A study — a study ! — let me examine him ! Such 
men are living satires on the world. 

Smooth [passing his arm caressingly over Sir John's 
shoulder]. My dear John, how well you are looking ! A 
new lease of life ! Introduce me to Mr. Evelyn. 

Eve. Sir, it's an honour I've long ardently desired. 

[They bow and shake hands. 
Enter Sir Frederick Blount. 

Blount. How d'ye do, Sir John 1 Ah, Evelyn — I wished 
so much to see you. 

Eve. 'Tis my misfortune to be visible ! 

Blount. A little this way. You know, perhaps, that 
I once paid my addwesses to Miss Vesey ; but since that 
vewy eccentwic will Sir John has shuffled me off, and hints 
&t a pwior attachment — [aside] which I know to be false. 

Eve. [seeing Clara]. A prior attachment ! — (Ha ! 
Clara !) Well, another time, my dear Blount. 

Enter Clara. 

Blount. Stay a moment — I want you to do me a favour 
with regard to Miss Douglas. 



SCENE V.] MOISK*. 341 

Eve. Miss Douglas ! 

Blount. Yes; — you see, though Georgina has gweat 
expectations, and Stingy Jack will leave her all that he 
has, yet she has only her legacy of £10,000 at the moment 
— no doubt closely settled on herself too : Clawa has 
£20,000. And, I think, Clawa always liked me a little. 

Eve. You ! I dare say she did ! 

Blount It is whispered about that you mean to pwopose 
to Georgina. Nay, Sir John more than hinted that was 
her pwior attachment ! 

Eve. Indeed ! 

Blount. Now, as you are all in all with the family, if 
you could say a word for me to Miss Douglas, I don't see 
what harm it could do me ! — [-4s*We.] I will punish 
Georgina for her pwerfidy. 

Eve. 'Sdeath, man ! speak for yourself ! you are just 
the sort of man for young ladies to like — they understand 
you — you're of their own level. Pshaw ! you're too 
modest — you want no mediator ! 

Blount. My dear fellow, you flatter me. I'm well 
enough in my way. But you, you know, would cawwy 
evewything before you ! — you're so confoundedly wich ! 

Eve. [turning to Clara], Miss Douglas, what do you 
think of Sir Frederick Blount 1 Observe him. He is 
well dressed — young — tolerably handsome — (Blount 
bowing) bows with an air — has plenty of small-talk — 
every thing to captivate. Yet he thinks that, if he 
and I were suitors to the same lady, I should be more 
successful because I am richer. — What say you ! Is 
love an auction 1 — and do women's hearts go to the 
highest bidder ? 

Clovra. Their hearts 1 — No. 



342 MONEY. [act II 

Eve. But their hands — yes ! You turn away. Ah, 
you dare not answer that question ! 

Geor. [aside]. Sir Frederick flirting with Clara? I'll 
punish him for his perfidy. You are the last person to 
talk so, Mr. Evelyn ! — you, whose wealth is your smallest 
attraction— «£23*j whom every one admires — so witty, such 
taste, such talent ! Ah, I'm very foolish ! 

Sir John [clapping him on the shoulder]. You must not 
turn my little girl's head. Oh, you're a sad fellow ! 
Apropos, I must show you Georgina's last drawings. 
She has wonderfully improved since you gave her lessons 
in perspective. 

Geor. No, papa ! — No, pray, no ! Nay, don't ! 

Sir John. Nonsense, child ! — it's very odd, but she's 
more afraid of you than of any one ! 

Smooth [to Blount taking snuff]. He's an excellent 
father, our dear John ! and supplies the place of a mother 
to her. [Turns away to Lady Franklin and Graves. 

[Evelyn and Georgina seat themselves, and look over the 

drawings ; Sir John leans over them ; Sir Frederick 

converses with Clara ; Evelyn watching them. 

Eve. Beautiful ! — a view from Tivoli. (Death ! — she 

looks down while he speaks to her !) Is there a little 

fault in that colouring 1 (She positively blushes !) But 

this Jupiter is superb. (What a d d coxcomb it is !) 

[Rising.] Oh, she certainly loves him — I too can be 
loved elsewhere — I too can see smiles and blushes on the 
face of another. 

Geor. Are you not well ? 

Eve. I beg pardon. Yes, you are indeed improved ! 
Ah, who so accomplished as Miss Vesey 1 

[Takes up the drawings ; pays her marked attention in 
dumb show. 



SCENE V.J MONEY. 343 

Clara. Yes, Sir Frederick, the concert was very crowded. 
Ah, I see that Georgina consoles him for the past ! He 
has only praises for her, nothing but taunts for me ! 

Blount. I wish you would take my opewa-box next 
Saturday — 'tis the best in the house. I'm not wich, but 
I spend what I have on myself ! I make a point to have 
evewything the best in a quiet way. Best opewa-box — 
best dogs — best horses — best house of its kind. I want 
nothing to complete my establishment but the best wife ! 

Clara [abstractedly]. That will come in good time, Sir 
Frederick. 

Eve. Oh, it will come — will it 1 Georgina refused the 
trifler — she courts him [taking up a portrait]. Why, what 
is this 1 — my own 

Gear. You must not look at that — you must not, in- 
deed. I did not know it was there. 

Sir John. Your own portrait, Evelyn ! Why, child, I 
was not aware you took likenesses ; — that's something- 
new. Upon my word it's a strong resemblance. 

Geor. Oh, no — it does not do him justice. Give it to 
me. I will tear it. [ilswfe.] That odious Sir Frederick ! 

Eve. Nay, you shall not. 

Clara. So — so — he loves her, then ! Misery — misery ! 
But he shall not perceive it ! No — no — I can be proud 
too. Ha! ha! — Sir Frederick — excellent — excellent — 
you are so entertaining — ha ! ha ! [laughs hysterically]. 

Eve. Oh, the affectation of coquets — they cannot even 
laugh naturally ! 

[Clara looks at him reproachfully, and i^alks aside with 
Sir Frederick. 

But where is the new guitar you meant to buy, Miss 
Vesey — the one inlaid with tortoiseshell ? It is nearly a 



344 money. [act iii. 

year since you set your heart on it, and I don't see it yet ! 

Sir John [taking him aside confidentially]. The guitar 
—oh, to tell you a secret — she applied the money I gave 
her for it to a case of charity several months ago — the 
very day the will was read. I saw the letter lying on the 
table, with the money in it. Mind, not a word to her — 
she'd never forgive me ! 

Eve. Letter ! — money ! What was the name of the 
person she relieved ? — not Stanton ? 

Sir John. I don't remember, indeed. 

Eve. [taking out the letter]. This is not her hand ! 

Sir John. No ! I observed at the time it was not her 
hand, but I got out from her that she did not wish the 
thing to be known, and had employed some one else to 
copy it. May I see the letter 1 Yes, I think this is the 
wording. But I did not mean to tell you what case of 
charity it was. I promised Georgy I would not. Still, 
how did she know Mrs. Stanton's address ? — you never 
gave it to me ! 

Eve. I gave it to her, Sir John. 

Clara [at the distance]. Yes, I'll go to the opera, if 
Lady Franklin will. Do go, dear Lady Franklin ! — on 
Saturday, then, Sir Frederick. [Exit Blount. 

Eve. Sir John, to a man like me, this simple act of un- 
ostentatious generosity is worth all the accomplishments in 
the world. A good heart — a tender disposition — a cha- 
rity that shuns the day — a modesty that blushes at its 
own excellence — an impulse towards something more 
divine than Mammon ; — such are the true accomplish- 
ments which preserve beauty for ever young. Such I 
have sought in the partner I would take for life ; — such 
have I found — alas ! not where I had dreamed ! — Miss 



SCENE I.] MONEY. 345 

Vesey, I will be honest — I say then, frankly — [as Clara 
approaches, raising his voice and looking fixedly at her] — 
I have loved another — deeply — truly — bitterly — vainly ! 
I cannot offer to you, as I did to her, the fair first love of 
the human heart — rich with all its blossoms and its ver- 
dure. But if esteem — if gratitude — if an earnest resolve 
to conquer every recollection that would wander from 
your image ; — if these can tempt you to accept my hand and 
fortune, my life shall be a study to deserve your confidence. 

[Clara stands motionless, clasping her hands, and then 
slowly seats herself. 

Sir John. The happiest day of my life ! 

[Clara falls bach in her chaw. 

Eve. [darting forward]. [Aside.] She is pale ; she 
faints ! What have I done ? Oh heaven ! — Clara ! 

Clara [rising with a smile]. Be happy, my cousin — be 
happy ! Yes, with my whole heart I say it — be happy, 
Alfred Evelyn • 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 

The drawing-rooms in Sir John Veset's house. 
Sir John, Georgina. 

Sir John. And he has not pressed you to fix the wed- 
ding-day 1 

Geor. No ; and since he proposed he comes here so 
seldom, and seems so gloomy. Heigho ! Poor Sir 
Frederick was twenty times more amusing. 



346 MONEY. [ACT III. 

Sir John. But Evelyn is fifty times as rich ! 

Geor. Sir Frederick dresses so well ! 

Sir John. You'll have magnificent diamonds ; but a 
word with you : I saw you yesterday in the square with 
Sir Frederick ; that must not happen again. When a 
young lady is engaged to one man, nothing is so inde- 
corous as to flirt with another. It might endanger your 
marriage itself. Oh, it's highly indecorous ! 

Geor. Don't be afraid, papa, — he takes up with Clara. 

Sir John. Who, Evelyn 1 

Geor. Sir Frederick. Heigho ! — I hate artful girls. 

Sir John. The settlements will be splendid ! if any- 
thing happens, nothing can be handsomer than your 
jointure. 

Geor. My own kind papa, you always put things so 
pleasantly. But do you not fear lest he discover that 
Clara wrote the letter 1 

Sir John. "No ; and I shall get Clara out of the hous* 
But there is something else that makes me very uneasy. 
You know that no sooner did Evelyn come into possession 
of his fortune than he launched out in the style of a prince 
His house in London is a palace, and he has bought a great 
estate in the country. Look how he lives ! — Balls — ban- 
quets — fine arts — fiddlers — charities— and the devil to pay ! 

Geor. But if he can afford it 

Sir John. Oh ! so long as he stopped there I had no 
apprehension ; but since he proposed for you he is more 
extravagant than ever. They say he has taken to gam- 
bling : and he is always with Captain Smooth. No for- 
tune can stand Deadly Smooth ! If he gets into a scrape 
he may fall off from the settlements. We must press the 
marriage at once. \ 



v 



SCENE II. J MONEY. 347 

Geor. Heigho ! Poor Frederick ! You don't think he 
is really attached to Clara ! 

Sir John. Upon my word I can't say. Put on your 
bonnet, and come to Storr and Mortimer's to choose the 
jewels. 

Geor. The jewels; — yes — the drive will do me good. 
So you'll send away Clara 1 — she's so very deceitful. 

Sir John. Never fear — yes — tell her to come to me. 

[Exit Georgina. 

Yes ! I must press on this marriage ; Georgina has not 
wit enough to manage him — at least till he's her husband, 
and then all women find it smooth sailing. This match 
will make me a man of prodigious importance ! I suspect 
he'll give me up her ten thousand pounds. I can't think 
of his taking to gambling, for I love him as a son — and I 
look on his money as my own. 



SCENE II. 
Clara and Sir John. 

Sir John. Clara, my love ! 

Clara. Sir 

Sir John. My dear, what I am going to say may appear 
a little rude and unkind, but you know my character is 
frankness. — To the point then; my poor child, I am 
aware of your attachment to Mr. Evelyn 

Clara. Sir ! my attachment ? 

Sir John. It is generally remarked. Lady Kind says 
you are falling away. My poor girl, I pity you — I do, 



348 MONEY. [ACT III. 

indeed ! Now, there's that letter you wrote to his 
old nurse — it has got about somehow — and the world is 
so ill-natured. I don't know if I did right ; but after he 
had proposed to Georgy — (of course not before !) — I 
thought it so unpleasant for you, as a young lady, to be 
suspected of anything forward with respect to a man who 
was not attached to you, that I rather let it be supposed 
that Georgy lierself wrote the letter. 

Clara. Sir, I don't know what right you had to 

Sir John. That's very true, my dear : and I've been 
thinking since that I ought perhaps to tell Mr. Evelyn 
that the letter was yours — shall 1 1 

Clara. No, sir ; I beg you will not. I — I — \weeps\. 

Sir John. My dear Clara, don't cry ; I would not have 
said this for the world, if I was not a little anxious about 
my own girl. Georgina is so unhappy at what every one 
says of your attachment 

Clara. Every one ? — Oh, torture ! 

Sir John. That it preys on her spirits — it even irritates 
her temper ! You see, though the marriage will take 
place almost immediately, Mr. Evelyn does not come so 
often as he ought. In a word, I fear these little jealousies 
and suspicions will tend to embitter their future union. 
— I'm a father — forgive me. 

Clara. Embitter their union ! Oh, never ! What 
would you have me do, sir 1 

Sir. John. Why, you're now independent. Lady Frank- 
lin seems resolved to stay in town. Surely she can't 
mean to take her money out of the family by some foolish 
inclination for Mr. Graves? He is always purring and 
whining about the house, like a black cat in the megrims, 
What think you, eh ? \ 



SCENE II.] MONEY. 349 

Clara, Sir, it was of myself — my unhappy self, you 
were speaking. 

Sir John. Sly ! True ; true ! What I meant to say 

was this : — Lady Franklin persists in staying here : you 
are your own mistress. Mrs. Carlton, aunt to my late 
wife, is goiog abroad for a short time, and would be de- 
lighted if you would accompany her. 

Clara. It is the very favour I would have asked of you. 
|\4siGk] I shall escape at least the struggle and the 
shame. When does she go 1 

Sir John. In five days — next Monday. — You forgive 
me? 

Clara. Sir, I thank you. 

Sir John [drawing the table]. Suppose, then, you write 
a line to her yourself, and settle it at once ? 

Enter Servant. 

Servant. The carriage, Sir John ; Miss Yesey is quite 



Sir John. Wait a moment. Shall I tell Evelyn you 
wrote the letter 1 

Clara. No, sir, I implore you. 

Sir John. But it would be awkward for Georgy, if 
discovered. 

Clara. It never shall be. 

Sir John. Well, well, as you please. I know nothing 
could be so painful to a young lady of pride and delicacy. 

James, if Mr. Serious, the clergyman, calls, say I'm 

gone to the great meeting at Exeter Hall : if Lord Spruce 
calls, say you believe I'm gone to the rehearsal of Cinder- 
ella. Oh ! and if Mac Finch shcflii come — (Mac Finch, 
who duns me three times a week}«*-say I've hurried off 



350 MONEY. [ACT Ill- 

tO Garraway's to bid for the great Bulstrode estate. Just 
put the Duke of Lofty's card carelessly on the hall table. 
And I say, James, I expect two gentlemen a little before 
dinner — Mr. Squab the Radical, and Mr. Qualm of the 
great Marylebone Conservative Association. Show Squab 
into the study, and be sure to give him the " Weekly 
True Sun," — Qualm into the back parlour, with the 
"Times" and the "Morning Post." One must have 
a little management in this world. All humbug ! — all 
humbug, upon my soul ! [Exit 

Clara [folding the letter]. There — it is decided ! A 
few days, and we are parted for ever ! — a few weeks, and 
another will bear his name — his wife ! Oh, happy fate ! 
She will have the right to say to him — though the 
whole world should hear her — " I am thine ! " And I 
embitter their lot — I am the cloud upon their joyous 
sunshine ! And yet, Alfred ! if she loves thoe — if she 
knows thee— if she values thee — and, when thou wrong'st 
her, if she can forgive, as I do — I can bless her when far 
away, and join her name in my prayer for thee ! 

Eve. [without]. Miss Vesey just gone? Well, I will 
write a line. 



SCENE III. 

Evelyn and Clara. 

Eve. [aside]. So — Clara ! Do not let me disturb you, 
Miss Douglas. 

Clara [going] Nay, I have done. 



SCENE III.] MONEY. oj] 

Eve. I see that my presence is always odious to you, 
it is a reason why I come so seldom. But be cheered, 
madam : I am here but to fix the day of my marriage, 

and I shall then go into the country — till — till- In 

short, this is the last time my visit will banish you from 
the room I enter. 

Clara [aside]. The last time !— and we shall then meet 
no more ! — And to part thus for ever — in scorn — in 
anger — I cannot bear it ! [Approaching him.] Alfred, 
my cousin, it is true, this may be the last time we shall 
meet — I have made my arrangements to quit England. 

Eve. To quit England ? 

Clara. But before I go let me thank you for many a 
past kindness, which it is not for an orphan easily to forget. 

Eve. [mechanically]. To quit England ! 

Clara. I have long wished it : but enough of me. 

Evelyn, now that you are betrothed to another— now, 
without recurring to the past — now, without the fear of 
mutual error and mistake — something of our old friend- 
ship may at least return to us. And if, too, I dared,. 

I have that on my mind which only a friend — a sister — 
might presume to say to you. 

Eve. [moved]. Miss Douglas — Clara — if there is ought 
that I could do — if, while hundreds — strangers— beggars 
tell me that I have the power, by opening or shutting 
this worthless hand, to bid sorrow rejoice, or poverty 
despair — if — if my life— my heart's blood — could render 
to you one such service as my gold can give to others — 
why, speak ! — and the past you allude to — yes, even 
that bitter past — I will cancel and forget. 

Clara [holding out her hand]. We are friends, then ! 
you are again my cousin ! my brother. 



352 MONEY. [act III. 

Eve. [dropping lier hand]. Brother ! Ah ! say on ! 

Clara. I speak, then, as a sister — herself weak, 
inexperienced, ignorant, nothing — might speak to a 
brother, in whose career she felt the ambition of a man. 
Oh, Evelyn, when you inherited this vast wealth I pleased 
myself with imagining how you would wield the power 
delegated to your hands. I knew your benevolence — 
your intellect — your genius ! — the ardent mind couched 
beneath the cold sarcasm of a long-baffled spirit ! J saw 
before me the noble and bright career open to you at 
last — and I often thought that, in after-years, when far 
away — as I soon shall be — I should hear your name 
identified, not with what fortune can give the base, but 
with deeds and ends to which, for the great, fortune is 
but the instrument ; — I often thought that I should say 
to my own heart — weeping proud and delicious tears — 
u And once this man loved me ! " 

Eve. No more, Clara ! — oh, Heavens ! — no more ! 

Clara. But has it been so ? — have you been true to 

your own self 1 Pomp — parade — luxuries — pleasures 

— follies ! — all these might distinguish others — they do 

but belie the ambition and the soul of Alfred Evelyn ! 

Oh ! pardon me — I am too bold — I pain — I offend yon. 

Ah, I should not have dared thus much had I not 

thought at times, that — that 

Eve. That these follies — these vanities — this dalliance 
with a loftier fate were your own work ! You thought 
that, and you were right ! Perhaps, indeed, after a youth 
ateeped to the lips in the hyssop and gall of penury — 
perhaps I might have wished royally to know the full 
value of that dazzling and starry life which, from the last 
step in the ladder, I had seen indignantly and from afar. 



SCENE III.] MONEY. 353 

But a month — a week would have sufficed for that 
experience. Experience ! — Oh, how soon we learn that 
hearts are as cold and souls as vile — no matter whether 
the sun shine on the noble in his palace, or the rain 
drench the rags of the beggar cowering at the porch. 
The extremes of life differ but in this : — Above, Vice 
smiles and revels — below, Crime frowns and starves. But 
you — did not you reject me because I was poor ? Despise 
me if you please ! — my revenge might be unworthy — I 
wished to show you the luxuries, the gaud, the splendour 
I thought you prized, — to surround with the attributes 
your sex seems most to value the station that, had you 
loved me, it would have been yours to command. But 
vain — vain alike my poverty and my wealth ! You loved 
me not in either, and my fate is sealed? 

Clara. A happy fate, Evelyn ! — you love ! 

Eve. And at last I am beloved. [After a pause, and 
turning to her abruptly.] Do you doubt it % 

Clara. No, I believe it firmly ! — [ilsttfe.] Were it 
possible for her not to love him % 

Eve. Georgina, perhaps, is vain — and light — and 

Clara. No — think it not ! Once removed from the 
worldly atmosphere of her father's counsels, and you will 
form and raise her to your own level. She is so young 
yet — she has beauty, cheerfulness, and temper ; — the rest 
you will give, if you will but yet do justice to your own 
nature. And, now that there is nothing unkind between 
us — not even regret — and surely [with a smile] not revenge, 
my cousin, you will rise to your nobler self — and so, farewell ! 

Eve. No ; stay, one moment ; — you still feel interest 
in my fate ! Have I been deceived ? Oh, why — why 
did you spurn the heart whose offerings were lavished at 
2 A 



354 money. [act in. 

your feet ? Could you still — still ? Distraction — I 

know not what I say : — my honour pledged to another — 
my vows accepted and returned ! Go, Clara, it is best 
so ! Yet you will miss some one, perhaps, more than me 
— some one to whose follies you have been more indul- 
gent — some one to whom you would permit a yet tenderer • 
name than that of brother ! 

Clara [aside]. It will make him, perhaps, happier to 
think it ! Think so, if you will ! — but part friends. 

Eve. Friends — and that is all ! Look you, this is life ! 
The eyes that charmed away every sorrow — the hand 
whose lightest touch thrilled to the very core — the 
presence that, like moonlight, shed its own hallowing 
beauty over the meanest things ; a little while — a year 
— a month — a day, and we smile that we could dream so 
idly. All — all — -the sweet enchantment, known but once, 
never to return again, vanished from the world ! And 
the one who forgets the soonest — the one who robs your 
earth for ever of its summer — comes to you with a care- 
less lip, and says — "Let us part friends ! " Go, Clara, 

— go, — and be happy if you can ! 

Clara [weeping]. Cruel — cruel — to the last ! 

Heaven forgive you, Alfred ! [Exit. 

Eve. Soft ! let me recall her words, her tones, her 
looks. — Does she love me ? She defends her rival — she 
did not deny it when I charged her with attachment to 
another ; and yet — and yet — there is a voice at my heart - 
which tells me I have been the rash slave of a jealous anger. 
But I have made my choice — I must abide the issue ! 

Enter Graves, preceded by Servant. 

Ser. Lady "Franklin is dressing, sir. 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 355 



SCENE IV. 

Graves and Evelyn. 

Graves. Well, I'll wait. [Exit Servant.] She was 
worthy to have known the lost Maria ! So considerate 
to ask me hither — not to console me, that is impossible— 
but to indulge the luxury of woe. It will be a mournful 

scene. [Seeing Evelyn.] — Is that you, Evelyn 1 ? — I 

have just heard that the borough of Groginhole is vacant 
at last. Why not stand yourself ? — with your property 
you might come in without even a personal canvass. 

Eve. I, who despise these contests for the colour of a 
straw — this everlasting litigation of Authority versus 
Man — I to be one of the wranglers ? — never ! 

Graves. You are quite right, and I beg your pardon. 

Eve. [Aside]. And yet Clara spoke of ambition. She 

would regret me if I could be distinguished. [Aloud.] 

To be sure, after all, Graves, corrupt as mankind are, it 
is our duty to try at least to make them a little better. 
An Englishman owes something to his country. 

Graves. He does, indeed ! [counting on his fingers.] 
East winds. Fogs, Rheumatism, Pulmonary Complaints, 
and Taxes — [Evelyn walks about in disorder]. You seem 
agitated — a quarrel with your intended % Oh ! when 
you've been married a month, you'll not know what to do 
without one ! 

Eve. You are a pleasant comforter. 

Graves. Do you deserve a comforter ? One morning 
2 A 2 



356 MONEY. [act III. 

you tell me you love Clara, or at least detest her, 
which is the same thing (poor Maria often said she detested 
me) — and that very afternoon you propose to Georgina ! 

Eve. Clara will easily console herself — thanks to Sir 
Frederick ! 

Graves. He is young ! 

Eve. Good looking I 

Graves. A coxcomb ! 

Eve. And therefore irresistible ! 

Graves. Nevertheless, Clara has had the bad taste to re- 
fuse him. I have it from Lady Franklin, to whom he 
confided his despair in re-arranging his neck-cloth ! 

Eve. My dear friend — is it possible 1 

Graves. But what then 1 You must marry Georgina, 
who, to believe Lady Franklin, is sincerely attached to — 
your fortune. Go and hang yourself, Evelyn ; you have 
been duped by them. 

Eve. By them — bah ! If deceived, I have been my 
own dupe. Is it not a strange thing that in matters of 
reason — of the arithmetic and logic of life — we are sen- 
sible, shrewd, prudent men ; but touch our hearts — move 
our passions — take us for an instant from the hard safety 
of worldly calculation — and the philosopher is duller than 
the fool 1 Duped — if I thought it ! — 

Graves. To be sure ! — you tried Clara in your poverty ; 
it was a safe experiment to try Georgina in your wealth. 

Eve. Ha ! that is true — very true. Go on. 

Graves. You'll have an excellent father-in-law. Sir 
John positively weeps when he talks of your income ! 

Eve. Sir John, possibly — but Georgina 1 

Graves. Plays affection to you in the afternoon, after 
practising first with Sir Frederick in the morning. 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 357 

Eve. On your afe, sir, be serious : what do you mean 1 
Graves. That in passing this way I see her very often 
walking in the square with Sir Frederick. 

Eve. Ha ! say you so ? 

Graves. "What then ? Man is born to be deceived. 
You look nervous — your hand trembles ; that comes oi 
gaming. They say at the clubs that you play deeply. 

Eve. Ha ! ha ! Do they say that ? — a few hundreds 
lost or won — a cheap opiate — anything that can lay the 
memory to sleep. The poor man drinks, and the rich 
man gambles — the same motive to both ! But you are 
right — it is a base resource — I will play no more. 

Graves. I am delighted to hear it, for your friend Cap- 
tain Smooth has ruined half the young heirs in London. 
To play with him is to advertise yourself a bankrupt. 
Even Sir John is alarmed. I met him just now in Pall 
Mall; he made me stop, and implored me to speak to 
you. By the by, I forgot — do you bank with Flash, 
Brisk, Credit, and Co. ? 

Eve. So, Sir John is alarmed ? — [Aside.] Gulled by this 
cogging charlatan ? — Aha ! I may beat him yet at his own 

weapons ! Humph ! Bank with Flash ! Why do you 

ask me ? 

Graves. Because Sir John has just heard that they are 
in a very bad way, and begs you to withdraw anything 
you have in their hands. 

Eve. I'll kee to it. So Sir John is alarmed at my 
gambling 1 

Graves. Terribly ! He even told me he should go him- 
self to the club this evening, to watch you. 

Eve. To watch me ! — good — I will be there. 

Graves. But you will promise not to play 1 



358 MONEY. [act III. 

Eve. Yes — to play. I feel it is impossible to give it up ! 

Graves. No — no ! 'Sdeath, man ! be as wretched as 
you please ; break your heart, that's nothing ! but damme, 
take care of your pockets. 

Eve. I will be there — I will play with Captain Smooth 
— I will lose as much as I please — thousands — millions 
— billions ; and if he presume to spy on my losses, hang 
me if I don't lose Sir John himself into the bargain ! 
[Going out and returning.'] I am so absent ! What was 
the bank you mentioned ? Flash, Brisk, and Credit ? 
Bless me, how unlucky ! and it's too late to draw out to- 
day. Tell Sir John I'm very much obliged to him, and 
he'll find me at the club any time before day-break, hard 
at work with my friend Smooth ! [Exit. 

Graves. He's certainly crazy ! but I don't wonder at it. 
What the approach of the dog-days is to the canine species, 
the approach of the honeymoon is to the human race. 

Enter Servant. 

JSer. Lady Franklin's compliments — she will see you in 
the boudoir, sir. 

Graves. In the boudoir I — go, go — I'll come directly. 

[Exit Servant. 

My heart beats — it must be for grief. Poor Maria ! 
[Searching his pockets for his /handkerchief.'] Not a white 
one ! — just like my luck : I call on a lady to talk of the 
dear departed, and I've nothing about me but a cursed 
gaudy, flaunting, red, yellow, and blue abomination from 
India, which it's even indecent for a disconsolate widower 
to exhibit. Ah ! Fortune never ceases to torment the 
susceptible. The boudoir 1 — ha ! ha 1 the boudoir ! [Exit. 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 359 



SCENE V. 

A Boudoir in the same house. 

Lady Frank. I take so much compassion on this poor 
man, who is determined to make himself wretched, that I 
am equally determined to make him happy ! Well, if my 
scheme does but succeed, he shall laugh, he shall sing, he 
shall Mum ! — here he comes ! 

Enter Graves. 

Graves [sighing]. Ah, Lady Franklin ! 

Lady Frank, [sighing]. Ah, Mr. Graves ! [Tlwy seat 
themselves^ Pray excuse me for having kept you so long. 
Is it not a charming day % 

Graves. An east wind, ma'am ! but nothing comes amiss 
to you ! — 'tis a happy disposition ! Poor Maria ! she, too, 
was naturally gay. 

Lady Frank. Yes, she was gay. So much life, and a 
great deal of spirit. 

Graves. Spirit 1 Yes ! — nothing could master it. She 
woidd have her own way ! Ah ! there was nobody like her ! 

Lady Frank. And then, when her spirit was up, she 
looked so handsome ! Her eyes grew so brilliant ! 

Graves. Did not they 1 — Ah ! ah ! ha ! ha ! ha ! And 
do you remember her pretty trick of stamping her foot ? 
— the tiniest little foot — I think I see her now. Ah ! 
this conversation is very soothing ! 

Lady Frank. How well she acted in your private 
theatricals ! 



360 MONEY. [ACT III. 

Graves. You remember her Mrs. Oakley, in "The 
Jealous Wife 1 " Ha ! ha ! how good it was ! — 
ha ! ha ! 

Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! Yes, in the very first scene, 
when she came out with [mimicking] " Your unkindness 
and barbarity will be the death of me ! " 

Graves. No — no ! that's not it ! more energy. [Mimick- 
ing.] " Your unkindness and barbarity will be the death 
of me." Ha ! ha ! I ought to know how she said it, for 
she used to practise it on me twice a-day. Ah ! poor 
dear lamb ! [Wipes his eyes.] 

Lady Frank. And then she sang so well ! was such a 
composer ! What was that little French air she was so 
fond of? 

Graves. Ha ! ha ! sprightly % was it not 1 Let me see 
— let me see. 

Lady Frank, [humming]. Turn ti — ti turn — ti — ti — ti. 
No, that's not it. 

Graves [humming]. Turn ti — ti — turn ti — ti — turn — 
turn — turn. 

Both. Turn ti — ti — turn ti — ti — turn — turn — turn. 
Ha ! ha ! 

Graves [throwing himself back]. Ah ! what recollections 
it revives ! It is too affecting. 

Lady Frank. It is affecting ; but we are all mortal. 
[Sighs.] And at your Christmas party at Cyprus Lodge, 
do you remember her dancing the Scotch reel with 
Captain Macnaughten % 

Graves. Ha ! ha ! ha ! To be sure — to be sure. 

Lady Frank. Can you think of the step ? — somehow 
thus, was it not 1 [Dancing.] 

Graves. No — no — quite wrong! — just stand there. 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 361 

Now then [humming the tune]. — La — la-la-la. — La la, &c. 

[They dance. 
That's it — excellent — admirable ! 

Lady Frank [aside.] Now 'tis coming. 
Enter Sir John, Blount, Georgina, — they stand amazed. 
[Lady Franklin continues to dance. 

Graves. Bewitching — irresistible ! 'Tis Maria herself 

that I see before me ! Thus — thus — let me clasp Ob, 

the devil ! Just like my luck ! — [Stopping opposite Sir 
John]. [Lady Franklin runs off. 

Sir John. Upon my word, Mr. Graves ! 

Geor., Blount. Encore — encore ! Bravo — bravo ! 

Graves. It's all a mistake ! I — I — Sir John. Lady 

Franklin, you see — that is to say — I Sainted Maria ! 

you are spared, at least, this affliction ! 

Geor. Pray go on ! 

Blount. Don't let us interwupt you. 

Graves. Interrupt me ! I must say that this rudeness 
— this gross impropriety — to pry into the sorrows of a 
poor bereaved sufferer, seeking comfort from a sympa- 
thising friend — But such is human nature ! 

Geor. But, Mr. Graves ! — [following him]. 

Graves. Heartless ! 

Blount. My dear Mr. Graves ! — [following him]. 

Graves. Frivolous ! 

Sir John. Stay and dine ! — [following him]. 

Graves. Unfeeling ! 

Omnes. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Graves. Monsters ! Good day to you.* 

[Exit, followed by Sir John, <&c. 

* For the original idea of this scene the author is indebted to a 
little proverie, nover, he believes, acted in public 



362 MONEY. [act III, 



SCENE VI. 

Tlie interior of * * * * 's Club ; night ; lights, &c. Small 
sofa-tables, with boohs, papers, tea, coffee, &c. Several Members grouped 
by the fireplace ; one Member with his legs over the back of his chair ; 
another with his legs over his table; a third with his legs on the 
chimney-piece. To the left, and in front of the Stage, an old Member 
reading the newspaper, seated by a small round table ; to the right a 
card-table, before which Captain Dudley Smooth is seated, and 
sipping lemonade ; at the bottom of the Stage another card-table. 

Glossmore and Stout. 

Gloss. You don't come often to the club, Stout 1 

Stout. No ; time is money. An hour spent at a club 
is unproductive capital. 

Old Mem. [reading the newspaper]. Waiter ! — the snuff- 
box. , [Waiter brings it. 

Gloss. So, Evelyn has taken to play 1 I see Deadly 
Smooth, "hushed in grim repose, awaits his evening prey." 
Deep work to-night, I suspect, for Smooth is drinking 
lemonade — keeps his head clear — monstrous clever dog ! 

Enter Evelyn ; salutes and shakes hands with different 
members in passing up the Stage. 

How d' ye do, Glossmore 1 How are you, Stout 1 you 
don't play, I think % Political Economy never plays at 
cards, eh ? — never has time for anything more frivolous 
than Rents and Profits, Wages and Labour, Higli Prices, 
and Low — Corn-Laws, Poor-Laws, Tithes, Currency — 
Dot-and-go-one — Eates, Puzzles, Taxes, Piddles, and 



SCENE VI.] MONEY. 363 

Botheration ! Smooth is the man. Aha ! Smooth. Piquet, 

eh 1 Yon owe me my revenge ! 

[Members touch each other significantly ; Stout walks away 
with the snuff-box ; Old Member looJcs at him savagely. 

Smooth. My dear Alfred, anything to oblige. 

[They seat themselves. 
Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. 

[Waiter takes it from Stout and brings it bach to Old Member. 
Enter Blount. 

Blount. So, so ! Evelyn at it again, — eh, Glossmore 1 

Gloss. Yes, Smooth sticks to him like a leech. Clever 
fellow, that Smooth ! 

Blount. Will you make up a wubber ? 

Gloss. Ha^e yon got two others 1 

Blount. Yes ; Flat and Green. 

Gloss. Bad players. 

Blount. I make it a wule to play with bad players ; it 
is five per cent, in one's favour. I hate gambling. But 
a quiet wubber, if one is the best player out of four, can't 
do one any harm. 

Gloss. Clever fellow, that Blount ! 

[Blount taJces up the snuff-box and walks off with it ; Old 
Member looks at him savagely. 

[Blount, Glossmoee, Flat, and Geeen, make up a table 
at the bottom of the Stage. 

Smooth. A thousand pardons, my dear Alfred, — ninety 
repique — ten cards ! — game ! 

Eve. [passing a note to him]. Game ! Before we go on, 
one question. This is Thursday — how much do you 
calculate to win of me before Tuesday next ? 

Smooth. Ce clier Alfred I He is so droll ! 



364 MONEY. [act III. 

Eve. [writing in his pocket-book]. Forty games a-night 
— four nights, minus Sunday — our usual stakes — that 
would be right, I think ! 

Smooth [glancing over the account]. Quite — if I win all 
— which is next to impossible. 

Eve. It shall be possible to win twice as much, on one 
condition. Can you keep a secret 1 

Smooth. My dear Alfred, I have kept myself ! I never 
inherited a farthing — I never spent less that £4,000 
a- year — and I never told a soul how I managed it. 

Eve. Hark ye, then — a word with you — [they whisper]. 

Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box ! 

[Waiter takes it from Blount, &c. 

Enter Sir John. 

Eve. You understand ? 

Smooth. Perfectly ; anything to oblige. 

Eve. [cutting]. It is for you to deal. 

[They go on playing. 
Sir John [groaning]. There's my precious son-in-law, 
that is to be, spending my consequence, and making a 
fool of himself. 

[Takes up the snuff-box ; Old Member looks at him savagely. 

Blount. I'm out. Flat, a poney on the odd twick. 
That's wight. — [Coming up counting his money.] Well, 
Sir John, you don't play ! 

Sir John. Play ? no ! Confound him — lost again ! 

Eve. Hang the cards ! — double the stakes ! 

Smooth. Just as you please — done ! 

Sir John. Done, indeed 1 

Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. 

[Waiter takes it from Sir John. 



SCENE VI.] MONEY. 365 

Blount. I've won eight points and the bets — I never 
lose — I never play in the Deadly Smooth set ! 

[Takes up the snuff-box ; Old Member as before. 

Sir John [looking over Smooth's hand, and jidgetting 
backivarcb and forwards]. Lord, have mercy on us ! 
Smooth has seven for his point ! What's the stakes ? 

Eve. Don't disturb us — I only throw out four. Stakes, 
Sir John 1 — immense ! Was ever such luck ? — not a card 
for my point. Do stand back, Sir John — I'm getting 
irritable. 

Old Mem. Waiter ! the snuff-box. 

[Waiter brings it back. 

Blount. One hundred pounds on the next game, Evelyn ? 

Sir John. Nonsense — nonsense — don't disturb him ! 
All the fishes come to the bait ! Sharks and minnows 
all nibbling away at my son-in-law ! 

Eve. One hundred pounds, Blount ? Ah ! the finest 
gentleman is never too fine a gentleman to pick up a 
guinea. Done ! Treble the stakes, Smooth ! 

Sir John. I'm on the rack ! [seizing the snuff-box]. Be 
cool, Evelyn ! take care, my dear boy ! Be cool — be cool. 

Eve. What — what ? You have four queens ! — five to 
the king. Confound the cards ! a fresh pack. [Throws 
tlie cards behind him over Sir John.] 

Old Mem. Waiter ! the snuff-box. 

[Different members gather round. 

First Mem. I never before saw Evelyn out of temper. 
He must be losing immensely ! 

Second Mem. Yes, this is interesting ! 

Sir John. Interesting ! There's a wretch ! 

First Mem. Poor fellow ! he'll be ruined in a month ! 

Sir John. I'm in a cold sweat. 



366 MONEY. [act III. 

Second Mem. Smooth is the very devil. 

Sir John. The devil's a joke to him ! 

Gloss, [slapping Sir John on the back]. A clever fellow 
that Smooth, Sir John, eh 1 [Takes up the snuff-box. 
Old Member as before] £100 on this game, Evelyn 1 

Eve. [half turning round]. Yon ! well done the Con- 
stitution ! yes, £100 ! 

Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. 

Stout. I think I'll venture £200 on this game, Evelyn 1 

Eve. [quite turning round]. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — Enlighten- 
ment and the Constitution on the same side of the question 
at last ! Oh Stout, Stout ! — greatest happiness of the 
greatest number — greatest number, number one ! Done, 
Stout !— £200 ! ha ! ha ! ha !— deal, Smooth. Well done, 
Political Economy — ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Sir John. Quite hysterical — drivelling ! Ar'nt you 
ashamed of yourselves ? His own cousins — all in a con- 
spiracy — a perfect gang of them. [Members indignant. 

Stout [to M embers]. Hush ! he's to marry Sir John's 
daughter. 

First Mem. What, Stingy Jack's ? oh ! 

Chorus of Mems. Oh ! oh ! 

Old Mem. Waiter ! the snuff-box. 

Eve. [rising in great agitation]. No more, no more — 

I've done ! — quite enough. Glossmore, Stout, Blount — 

I'll pay you to-morrow. I« — I — Death ! — this is ruinous ! 

[Seizes the snuff-box ; Old Member as before. 

Sir John* Ruinous ? I dare say it is. What has he 
lost 1 what has he lost, Smooth % Not much ? eh 1 eh 1 

[Omnes gather round Smooth. 

Smooth. Oh, a trifle, dear John ! — excuse me ! We 
never tell our winnings. — [To Blount.] How d'ye do, 



SCENE VI.] MONEY. 367 

Fred 1 — [To Glossmore.] By the by, Charles, don't you 
want to sell your house in Grosvenor Square 1 — £12,000, 
eh? 

Gloss. Yes, and the furniture at a valuation. About 
£3,000 more. 

Smooth [looking over his pocket-book]. Urn ! — Well, we'll 
talk of it. 

Svr John. 12 and 3— £15,000. What a cold-blooded 
rascal it is !— £15,000, Smooth ? 

Smooth. Oh, the house itself is a trifle ; but the estab- 
lishment — I'm considering whether I have enough to keep 
it up, my dear John. 

Old Mem. Waiter, the snuff-box ! [Scraping it round, 
and ivith a wry face.] — And it's all gone ! 

[Gives it to the Waiter to fill. 

Sir John [turning round]. And it's all gone ! 

Eve. [starting up and laughing hysterically]. Ha ! ha ! 
all gone 1 not a bit of it. Smooth, this club is so noisy. 
Sir John, you are always in the way. Come to my house ! 
come ! Champagne and a broiled bone.* Nothing ven- 
ture, nothing have ! The luck must turn, and by Jupiter 
we'll make a night of it ! 

Sir John. A night of it ! ! ! For Heaven's sake, Eve- 
lyn ! Evelyn ! ! — think what you are about ! — think of 
Georgina's feelings ! think of your poor lost mother ! — 
think of the babes unborn ! think of 

Eve. I'll think of nothing ! Zounds ! — you don't know 

what I have lost, man ; it's all your fault, distracting my 

attention. Pshaw — pshaw ! Out of the way, do ! Come, 

Smooth. Ha ! ha ! a night of it, my boy — a night of it ! 

[Exeunt Smooth and Evelyn. 

Si'i John [following]. You must not, you shall not ! 



3CS MONEY. [ACT IV. 

Evelyn, my dear Evelyn ! he's drunk — he's mad ! Will 
no one send for the police % 

Mems. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor old stingy Jack ! 

Old Mem. Rising for the first time, and in a great rage]. 
Waiter ! — the snuff-box ! 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 

The Ante-room in Evelyn's house, as in Scene I., Act II. 
Tabouret, Macfinch, Frantz, and other Tradesmen. 

Tabou. [half whispers]. So, I hear that Mr. Evelyn has 
turned gamester! There are strange reports about to- 
day — I don't know what to make of it ! We must look 
sharp, Mr. Macfinch, we poor tradesmen, and make hay 
while the sun shines. 

Macfinch. I wuish those geeming-houses were aw at the 
deevil ! — It's a sheam and a sin for gentlemen to gang 
and ruin themselves, when we honest tradesmen could do 
it for them with sae muckle advantage to the arts and 
coummerce o' the country ! [Omnes shake their heads 
approvingly.] 

Enter Smooth from the inner room, with a pochei-bodk and 
pencil in his hand. 

Smooth [looking round]. Hum ! ha ! Fine pictures ! — 
[Feeling the curtains.] The new-fashioned velvet, hum ! 
good proportioned rooms ! Yes, this house is better than 



SCENE I.] MONEY. 369 

Glossmore's ! Oh, Mr. Tabouret, the upholsterer ! you 
furnished these rooms ? All of the best, eh ? 

Tabou. Oh, the very best ! Mr. Evelyn is not a man 
to grudge expense, sir ! 

Smooth. He is not, indeed. You've been paid, I sup- 
pose, Tabouret ? 

Tabou. No, sir, no — I never send in my bills when a 
customer is rich. [-4siefe.] Bills are like trees, and grow 
by standing. 

Smooth. Humph ! Not paid ? humph ! 

[Omnes gather round. 

Macfinch. I dinna like that hoomph, there's something 
vara suspeecious abun' it. 

Tabou. [to tlie tradesmen]. It is the great card-player, 
Captain Smooth — finest player in Europe— cleaned out 
the Duke of Sillyvale. Uncommoningly clever man ! 

Smooth [pacing about the room]. Thirty-six feet by 
twenty- eight — Urn ! I think a bow-window there would 
be an improvement : could it be done easily, Tabouret ? 

Macfinch. If Mr. Evelyn wants to pool about his house, 
there's no mon like my friend Mr. MacStucco. 

Smooth. Evelyn ! I was speaking of myself. Mr. 
MacStucco ? — humph ! 

Tabou. Yourself? Have you bought the house, sir? 

Smooth. Bought it? — hum! — ha! — it depends — So 
you've not been paid yet ? — um ! Nor you — nor you — 
nor you ? Hum ! ha ! 

Tabou. No, sir ! — what tlten ? No fear of Mr. Evelyn ! 
Ha ! ha ! 

Omrves [anxiously]. Ha ! ha ! — what then 1 

Macfinch. Ah, sir, what then ? I'm a puir mon with 
a family ; this way, Captain ! You've a leetle account in 
2 B 



370 MONEY. [ACT IV. 

the buiks ; an' we'll e'en wipe it out altogether, gin you'll 
say what you mean by that Hooni ha ! 

Smooth. Macfinch, my dear fellow, don't oblige me to 
cane you ; I would not have Mr. Evelyn distressed for 
the world. Poor fellow ! he holds very bad cards. So 
you've not been paid yet 1 Don't send in your bills on 
any account — Mind ! Yes ; I don't dislike the house 
with some alteration. Good day to you — Hum ! ha ! 

[Exit, loohing about him, examining the chairs, tables, dJc. 

Tabou. Plain as a pike-staff ! staked his very house on 
an odd trick ! 



SCENE II. 

The foregoing. — Enter Shaep from the inner room, agitated, 
and in a hurry. 

Sharp. O Lord ! O Lord ! — who'd have thought it ? 
Cards are the devil's books ! John ! — Thomas ! — Harris ! 
— [ringing tlie bell]. 

Enter Two Servants. 

Tom, take this letter to Sir John Vesey's. If not at home, 
find him — he will give you a cheque. Go to his banker's, 
and get it cashed instantly. Quick — quick ! off with you ! 

Tabou. [seizing Servant]. What's the matter — what's 
the matter 1 How's Mr. Evelyn % 

Ser. Bad — very bad ! Sate up all night with Captain 
Smooth ! [Runs off. 



SCENE II.] MONEY. 371 

Sharp [to tlie other Servant]. Yes, Harris, your poor 
master ! O dear ! O dear ! You will take this note to 
the Belgian minister, Portland-place. Passport for 
Ostend! Have the travelling carriage ready at a 
moment's notice ! 

Jfacfinch [stopping Servant]. Passport !' Harkye, my 
mon ; is he gaun to pit the saut seas between us and the 
siller ? 

Ser. Don't stop me — something wrong in the chest — 
change of air — late hours — and Captain Smooth ! [Exit. 

Sharp [walking about]. And if the bank should break ! 
— if the bank is broke, and he can't draw out ! — bound to 
Smooth. 

Tabou. Bank ! — what bank ? 

Sharp. Flash's bank ! Flash, brother-in-law to Captain 
Smooth ! What have you heard 1 — eh ? — eh ? 

Tabou. That there's an awful run on it ! 

Sharp. I must be off. Go — go — you can't see Mr. 
Evelyn to-day ! 

Tabou. My account, sir ! 

Macfinclt. I've a muckle bairns and a sma' bill ! 

Frantz. sare, de great gentlemen always tink first of 
de tailor ! 

Sharp. Call again — call again at Christmas. The bank, 
— the cards, — the bank ! O dear ! O dear ! [Exit. 

Tabou. The bank! 

Macfinch. The passport ! 

Frantz. And all dat vil be seen of de great Evelyn 
coat is de back of it ! Donner und Hagel ! — I vil arrest 
him — I vil put de salt on de tail of it ! 

Tabou. [aside], I'll slip down to the city and see how 
the bank goes ! 

2e2 



372 MONEY. [act IV. 

Macfincli [aside]. I'll e'en gang to my coosin the la'yer. 
Nothing but peetience for us, Mr. Tabouret. 

Tabou. Ay, ay, — stick by each other — share and share 
alike — that's my way, sir. 

nines. Share and share alike. [Exeunt. 



SCENE IIL 

Enter Servant, Glossmore, and Blount. 

Ser. My master is not very well, my lord ! but I'll let 
him know. [Exit. 

Gloss. I am very curious to learn the result of his 
gambling tete-a-tete. 

Blount. Oh, he's so howwidly wich, he can afford even 
a tete-a-tete with Deadly Smooth ! 

Gloss. Poor old Stingy Jack ! why Georgina was your 
intended. 

Blount. Yes ; and I really liked the girl, though out 
of pique I pwoposed to her cousin. But what can a man 
do against money % 

Enter Evelyn. 

If we could start fair, you'd see whom Georgina would 
pwefer : but she's sacwificed by her father ! She as 
much as told me so ! 

Eve. So, so, gentlemen, we've a little account to settle 
— one hundred each. • 

Both. Don't talk of it. 



SCENE III.] MONEY. 373 

Eve. [putting up his pocket-book]. Well, I'll not talk of 
it ! — [Taking Blount aside]. Ha ! ha ! you'd hardly 
believe it — but I'd rather not pay you just at present : 
my money is locked up, and I must wait, you know, for 
the Groginhole rents. So, instead of owing you one 
hundred pounds, suppose I owe you Jive ? You can give 
me a cheque for the other four. And, harkye ! not a 
word to Glossmore. 

Blount. Glossmore ! the gweatest gossip in London ! 
I shall be delighted ! — [Aside], It never does harm to 
lend to a wich man ; one gets it back somehow. By 
the way, Evelyn, if you want my gwey cab-horse, you 
may have him for two hundwed pounds, and that will 
make seven. 

Eve. [aside]. That's the fashionable usury : your friend 
does not take interest — he sells you a horse — [.4&md]. 
Blount, it's a bargain. 

Blount [writing the cheque, and musingly]. No ; I don't 
see what harm it can do me ; that off-leg must end in a 
spavin. 

Eve. [to Glossmore]. That hundred pounds I owe you 
is rather inconvenient at present ; I've a large sum to 
make up for the Groginhole property — perhaps you would 
lend me five or six hundred more — just to go on with ? 

Gloss. Certainly ! Hopkins is dead : your interest for 
Cipher would ■ 

Eve. Why, I can't promise that at this moment. But 
as a slight mark of friendship and gratitude, I shall be 
very much flattered if you'll accept a splendid grey cab- 
horse I bought to-day— cost two hundred pounds ! 

Gloss. Bought to-day I — then I'm safe. My dear fellow, 
you're always so princely ! 



374 MONEY. [act IV. 

Eve. Nonsense ! just write the cheque ; and, harkye, 
not a syllable to Blount ! 

Gloss. Blount ! He's the town -crier ! [Goes to write. 

Blount [giving Evelyn the cheque], Wansom's, Pall- 
mall East. 

Eve. Thank you. So you proposed to Miss Douglas ! 

Blount. Hang it ! yes ; I could have sworn that she 
fancied me ; her manner, for instance, that vewy day you 
pwoposed for Miss Vesey, otherwise Georgina 

Eve. Has only half what Miss Douglas has. 

Blount. You forget how much Stingy Jack must have 
saved ! But I beg your pardon. 

Eve. Never mind ; but not a word to Sir John, or 
he'll fancy I'm ruined. 

Gloss, [giving the cheque]. Ransom's, Pall-mall East. 
Tell me, did you win or lose last night % 

Eve. Win ! lose ! oh ! No more of that, if you love 
me. I must send off at once to the banker's [looking at 
the two cheques]. 

Gloss, [aside]. Why ! he's borrowed from Blount, too ! 

Blount [aside]. That's a cheque from Lord Gloss- 
more ! 

Eve. Excuse me ; I must dress ; I have not a moment 
to lose. You remember you dine with me to-day — seven 
o'clock. You'll meet Smooth. [With tears in his voice]. 
It may be the last time I shall ever welcome you here ! 

My what am I saying % — Oh, merely a joke ! — good 

bye — good bye. 

[Shaking them heartily by the hand. Exit ly the inner room. 

Blount. Glossmore ! 

Gloss. Blount ! 

Blount. I am afraid all's not wight ! 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 375 

Gloss. I incline to your opinion ! 

Blount. But I've sold my gwey cab-horse. 

Gloss. Grey cab-horse ! you ! What is he really worth 
now? 

Blount. Since he is sold, I will tell you — Not a 
sixpence ! 

Gloss. Not a sixpence ? he gave it to me ! 

[Evelyn at Vie door giving directions to a Servant in dumb 
si LOW. 

Blount. That was devilish unhandsome f Do you 
know, I feel nervous ! 

Gloss. Nervous ! Let us run and stop payment of our 
cheques. 

[Evelyn shuts tJie door, and Servant runs across the stage. 

Blount. Hollo, John ! where so fast 1 

Ser. [in great haste]. Beg pardon, Sir Frederick, to 
Pall-mall East — Messrs. Ransom. [Exit. 

Blount [solemnly]. Glossmore, we are fwoored ? 

Gloss. Sir, the whole town shall know of it. [Exeunt. 



SCENE IY. 

Enter Toke and other Servants. 

Toke. Come, come, stir yourselves ! we've no time to 
lose. This room is to be got ready for the shawls. Mrs. 
Crump and the other ladies of the household are to wait 
here on the women before they go up to the drat ing- 



376 MONEY. [act IV. 

room. Take away that desk : don't be lazy ! and give 
me the newspaper. 

[Toke seats himself ; tlie Servants bustle about. 
Strange reports about my patron ! and the walley is 
gone for the passport ! 

Enter Frantz with a bundle. 

Frantz. Mr. Toke, my goot Mr. Toke, I've brought you 
von leetel present. 

Toke. Jonn and Charles vanish ! [Exeunt Servants. 

I scorn to corrupt them 'ere working classes ! 

Frantz [producing a pair of smaU-clotlies which Toke 
examines']. Your master is von beggar ! He vants to 
run avay ; ve are all in de same vat-you-call-it — tie same 
leetel nasty boat, Mr. Toke ! Just let my friend Mr. Clutch 
up through the area, I vill put vat you call un execution 
on de gutes and de catties dis very tay. 

Toke. I accept the abridgements : but you've forgotten 
to line the pockets ! 

Frantz. Blesh my soul, so I have ! [giving a note]. 

Toke. The area-gate shall be left undefended. Do it 
quietly, no claw, as the French say. 

Frantz. Goot Mr. Toke — to-morrow I vill line de oter 
pocket. [Exit. 

Toke. My patron does not give me satisfaction ! 

Enter Footman. 

Foot. What chandeliers are to be lighted, Mr. Toke ? — 
it's getting late. 

Toke. Don't disturb me — I'm rum-mynating ! — yes, yes. 
there's no doubt of it ! Charles, the area-gate is open. 

Foot. And all the plate in the pantry ! I'll run and — 



# SCENE V.] MONEY. 377 

Tohe. Not a step ! leave it open. 

Foot. But 

Toke [with dignity]. 'Ti3 for the sake of wentilation ! 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE Y. 

A splendid salovn^m Evelyn's house. 

Evelyn and Graves. 

Graves. You've withdrawn your money from Flash and 
Brisk ? 
Eve. No. 
Graves. No ! — then 

Enter Sir John, Lady Franklin, and Georgina. 

Sir John. You got the cheque for £500 safely? — too 
happy to 

Eve. [interrupting him]. My best thanks ! — my warm- 
est gratitude ! So kind in you ! so seasonable ! — that 
£500 — you don't know the value of that £500. I shall 
never forget your nobleness of conduct. 

Sir John. Gratitude ! Nobleness ! — [^sicfe.] I can't 
have been taken in ? 

Eve. And in a moment of such distress ! 

Sir John [aside]. Such distress ! He picks out the 
ugliest words in the whole dictionary ! 

Eve. I've done with Smooth. But I'm still a little 
crippled, and you must do me another favour. I've only 
as yet paid the deposit of ten per cent, for the great 



378 MONEY. [act it. 

Groginhole property. I am to pay the rest this week — 
nay, I fear to-morrow. I've already sold out of the 
Funds ! the money lies at the banker's, and of course I 
can't touch it ; for if I don't pay by a certain day, I 
forfeit the estate and the deposit. 

Sir John. What's coming now, I wonder ? 

Eve. Georgina's fortune is £10,000. I always meant, 
my dear Sir John, to present you with that little sum. 

Sir Jolin^ Oh, Evelyn ! your generosity is positively 
touching [wipes his eyes]. 

Eve. But the news of my losses has frightened my 
tradesmen ! I have so many heavy debts at this moment 

that — that — that . But I see Georgina is listening, 

and I'll say what I have to say to her. 

Sir John. No, no — no, no. Girls don't understand 
business ! 

Eve. The very reason I speak to her. This is an affair 
not of business, but of feeling. Stout, show Sir John my 
Correggio. 

Sir John [aside]. Devil take his Correggio ! The man 
is born to torment me ! 

Eve. My dear Georgina, whatever you may hear said 
of me, I flatter myself that you feel confidence in my 
honour. 

Geor. Can you doubt it ? 

Eve. I confess that I am embarrassed at this moment : 
I have been weak enough to lose money at play; and 
there are other demands on me. I promise you never to 
gamble again as long as I live. My affairs can be re- 
trieved \ but for the first few years of our marriage it 
may be necessary to retrench. 

Geor. Retrench ! 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 379 

Eve. To live, perhaps, altogether in the country. 

Geor. Altogether in the country ! 

Eve. To confine ourselves to a modest competence. 

Geor. Modest competence ! I knew something horrid 
was coming ! 

Eve. And now, Georgina, you may have it in your 
power at this moment to save me from much anxiety and 
humiliation. My money is locked up — my debts of 
honour must be settled — you are of age — your £10,000 
in your own hands 

Sir John [Stout listening as well as Sir John]. I'm 
standing on hot iron ! 

Eve. If you could lend it to me for a few weeks 

You hesitate ! oh ! believe the honour of the man you 
will call your husband before all the calumnies of the fools 
whom we call the world ! Can you give me this proof of 
your confidence 1 Remember, without confidence what 
is wedlock 1 

Sir John [aside to her]. No ! [Aloud, pointing his glass 
at the Correggio.] Yes, the painting may be fine. 

Stout. But you don't like the subject ? 

Geor. [aside]. He may be only trying me ! Best leave 
it to papa. 

Eve. Well 

Geor. You — you shall hear from me to-morrow. — 
[iisufe.] Ah, there's that dear Sir Frederick ! 

[Goes to Blount. 

Enter Glossmore and Smooth ; Evelyn salutes them, 
paying Smooth servile respect. 

Lady Frank, [to Graves]. Ha! ha! To be so disturbed 

yesterday, — was it not droll 1 



380 MONEY. [ACT IV. 

Graves. Never recur to that humiliating topic. 

Gloss, [to Stout]. See how Evelyn fawns upon Smooth ! 

Stout. How mean in him ! — Smooth — a professional 
gambler — a fellow who lives by his wits ! I would not 
know such a man on any account ! 

Smooth [to Glossmore]. So Hopkins is dead — you want 
Cipher to come in for Groginhole, eh ? 

Gloss. "What ! — could you manage it ? 

Smooth. Ce clier Charles I — anything to oblige ! 

Stout. Groginhole ! What can he have to do with 
Groginhole ? Glossmore, present me to Smooth. 

Gloss. What ! the gambler — the fellow who lives by his 
wits? 

Stout. Why, his wits seem to be an uncommonly pro- 
ductive capital ? I'll introduce myself. How d'ye do, Cap- 
tain Smooth ? We have met at the club, I think — I am 
charmed to make your acquaintance in private. I say, 
sir, what do you think of the affairs of the nation 1 Bad ! 
very bad ! — no enlightenment ! — great fall off in the 
revenue ! — no knowledge of finance ! There's only one 
man who can save the country and that's Popkins ! 

Smooth. Is he in Parliament, Mr. Stout ? What's your 
Christian name, by-the-bye ? 

Stout. Benjamin. — No ; — constituencies are so ignorant, 
they don't understand his value. He's no orator : in fact, 
he stammers so much — but devilish profound. Could not 
we ensure him for Groginhole ? 

Smooth. My dear Benjamin, it is a thing to be thought 
on. 

Eve. [advancing]. My friends, pray be seated ; — I wish 
to consult you. This day twelve months I succeeded to 
an immense income, and as, by a happy coincidence, on 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 3S1 

the same day I secured your esteem, so now I wish to 
ask you if you think I could have spent that income in 
a way more worthy your good opinion. 

Gloss. Impossible ! excellent taste — beautiful house ! 

Blount. Vewy good horses — [Aside to Glossiiore] 
especially the gwey cab ! 

Lady Frank. Splendid pictures ! 

Graves. And a magnificent cook, ma'am ! 

Smooth [thrusting his hands into his pockets]. It is my 
opinion, Alfred — and I'm a judge — that you could, not 
have spent your money better ! 

Omnes [except Sir John]. Very true ! 

Eve. What say you, Sir John 1 You may think me a 
little extravagant ; but you know that in this world the 
only way to show one's self thoroughly respectable is to 
make a thoroughly respectable show. 

Sir John. Certainly — certainly ! No, you could not 
have done better. [.4sie?e]. I don't know what to make 
of it. 

Geor. Certainly. — [Coaxingly]. Don't retrench, my 
dear Alfred ! 

Gloss. Retrench ! nothing so plebeian ! 

Stout. Plebeian, sir ! — worse than plebeian ! — it is 
against all the rules of public morality. Every one knows, 
now-a-days, that extravagance is a benefit to the popu- 
lation — encourages art — employs labour — and multiplies 
spinning-j ennies. 

Eve. You reassure me ! I own I did think that a man 
worthy of friends so sincere might have done something 
better than feast — dress — drink — play 

Gloss. Nonsense! — we like you l!to better for it. 
[Aside]. I wish I had my £600 bac>, ibough. 



382 MONEY. [act IV. 

Eve. And you are as much my friends now as when 
you offered me £10 for my old nurse ? 

Sir John. A thousand times more so, my dear boy ! 

[Ornnes approve. 
Enter Sharp. 

Smooth. But who's our new friend ? 

Eve. Who ! the very man who first announced to me 
the wealth which you allow I have spent so well. But 
what's the matter, Sharp ? 

Sharp [whispering Evelyn]. 

Eve. [aloud]. The bank's broke I 

Sir John. Broke ! — what bank ? 

Eve. Flash, Brisk, and Co. 

Gloss, [to Smooth]. And Flash was your brother-in-law. 
I'm very sorry. 

Smooth [taking snuff \ Not at all, Charles, — I did not 
bank there. 

Sir John. But I warned you — you withdrew ? 

Eve. Alas ! no ! 

Sir John. Oh ! Not much in their hands ? 

Eve. Why, I told you the purchase-money for Grogin- 

hole was at my bankers' but no, no : don't look so 

frightened ! It was not placed with Flash — it is at 
Hoare's — it is, indeed. Nay, I assure you it is. A mere 
trifle at Flash's, upon my word, now ! To-morrow, Sharp, 
we'll talk of this ! One day more — one day, at least, for 
enjoyment. 

Sir John. Oh ! a pretty enjoyment ! 

Blount. And he borrowed £700 of me ! 

Gloss. And £600 of me ! 

Sir John. And £500 of me i ^ 



^> 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 333 

Stout. Oh ! a regular Jeremy Diddler ! 

Smooth [to Sir John]. John, do you know, I think I 
would take a handsome offer for this house just as it 
stands — furniture, plate, pictures, books, bronzes, and 
statues ! 

Sir John. Powers above ! 

Stout [to Sir John]. I say, you have placed your 
daughter in a very unsafe investment. What then 1 — a 
daughter's like any other capital — transfer the stock in 
hand to t'other speculation. 

Sir John [going to Georgina]. Ha ! I'm afraid we've 
been very rude to Sir Frederick. A monstrous fine young 
man ! 

Enter Toke. 

Toke [to Evelyn]. Sir, I beg your pardon, but Mr. 
Macfinch insists on my giving you this letter instantly. 

Eve. [reading]. How ! Sir John, this fellow, Macfinch, 
has heard of my misfortunes, and insists on being paid ; — 
a lawyer's letter — quite insolent ! 

Toke. And, sir, Mr. Tabouret is below, and declares he 
will not stir till he's paid. 

JEve. Not stir till he's paid ! What's to be done, Sir 
John % — Smooth, what is to be done 1 

Smooth. If he'll not stir till he's paid, make him up a 
bed, and I'll take him in the inventory, as one of the 
fixtures, Alfred ! 

Eve. It is very well for you to joke, Mr. Smooth. 
But 

Enter Sheriff's Officer, giving a paper to Evelyn, 
and ivhispering. 

Eve. What's this? Frantz, the tailor. Why, the 



33 1 MONEY. [ACT IV. 

impudent scoundrel ! Faith, this is more than I bargained 
for — Sir John, the bailiffs are in the house ! 

Stout [slapping Sir John on the back with glee]. The 
bailiffs are in the house, old gentleman ! But I didn't 
lend him a farthing. 

Eve. And for a mere song — £150 ! Sir John, pay this 
fellow, will you 1 or see that my people kick out the 
bailiffs, or do it yourself, or something, — while we go to 
dinner ! 

Sir John. Pay— kick— I'll be d d if I do !— Oh, 

my £500 ! my £500 ! Mr. Alfred Evelyn, I want my 
£500! 

Graves. I'm going to do a very silly thing — I shall 
lose both my friend and my money ; — just like my luck ! 
— Evelyn, go to dinner — I'll settle this for you. 

Lady Frank. I love you for that ! 

Graves. Do you ? then I am the happiest — Ah ! ma'am, 
I don't know what I am saying ! 

[Exeunt Graves and Officer. 

Eve. [to Georgina]. Don't go by these appearances ! I 
repeat £10,000 will more than cover all my embarrass- 
ments. I shall hear from you to-morrow 1 

Geor. Yes — yes ! 

Eve. But you're not going 1 — You, too, Glossmore ? — 
you, Blount ? — you, Stout — you, Smooth ? 

Smooth. No; I'll stick by you as long^as you've a 
guinea to stake ! \^ 

Gloss. Oh, this might have been expected from^Tma^ 
of such ambiguous political opinions ! 

Stout. Don't stop me, sir. No man of common en- 
lightenment would have squandered his substance in this 
way. Pictures and statues ? — baugh ! ^— ■ 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 385 

Eve. Why, you all said I could not speud my money 
better ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! — the absurdest mistake ! — you 
don't fancy I'm going to prison ? — Ha ! ha ! — Why don't 
you laugh, Sir John % — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Sir John. Sir, this horrible levity! — Take Sir Frede- 
rick's arm, my poor, injured, innocent child! — Mr. 
Evelyn, after this extraordinary scene, you can't be 
surprised that I — I — Zounds ! I'm suffocating ! 

Smooth. But, my dear John, it is for us at least to put 
an execution on the dinner. 

Stout [aside]. The election at Groginhole is to-morrow. 
This news may not arrive before the poll closes. — 
[Rushing to Evelyn.] Sir Popkins never bribes : but 
Popkins will bet you £1,000 that he don't come in for 
Groginhole. 

Gloss. This is infamous, Mr. Stout ! Cipher is a man 
who scorns every subterfuge ! — [Aside to Evelyn.] But, 
for the sake of the Constitution, name your price. 

Eve. I know the services of Cipher — I know the pro- 
fundity of Popkins: but it is too late — the borough's 
engaged ! 

Toke. Dinner is served. 

Gloss, [pausing]. Dinner ! 

Stout. Dinner ! a very good smell ! 

Eve. [to Sir John]. Turtle and venison too. [TJiey stop 
irresolute.] 

Eve. That's right — come along. But, I say, Blount — 
Stout — Glossmore — Sir John — one word first ; will you 
lend me £10 for my old nurse 1 [They all fall hack. 

Ah ! you fall back. — Behold a lesson for all who build 
friendship upon their fortune, and not their virtues ! — 
You lent me hundreds this morning to squander upon 
2 c 



SSG MONEY. [ACT V 

pleasure — you would refuse me £10 now to bestow 
upon benevolence. Go — w'jhavc done with each other 
—go ! 

[Exeunt, indignantly, all but Evelyn and Smooth. 

Re-enter Graves. 

Graves. Heyday ! — what's all this 1 

Eve. Ha ! ha ! — the scheme prospers — the duper is 
duped ! Come, my friends — come : when the standard 
of money goes down, in the great battle between man and 
fate — why, a bumper to the brave hearts that refuse to 
desert us. [Exeunt. 



ACT V.— SCENE I. 
* * * * 's Club ; Smooth, Glossmoke — other Members. 

Gloss. Will his horses be sold, think you ? 

Smooth. Yery possibly, Charles ! — a fine stud — hum ! 
— ha ! Waiter, a glass of sherry ! 

Gloss. They say he must go abroad ! 

Smooth. Well ; 'tis the best time of year for travelling, 
Charles ! 

Gloss. We are all to be paid to-day : and that looks 
suspicious ! 

Smooth. Yery suspicious, Charles ! Hum ! — ah ! 

Gloss. My dear fellow, you must know the rights of the 
matter : I wish you'd speak out. What have you really 
won 1 Is the house itself gone ? 

Smooth. The house itself is certainly not gone, Charles, 



SCENE I.] MONEY. 387 

for I saw it exactly in the same place this morning at half- 
past ten — it has not moved *TI inch. 

[Wait gives a letter to Glossmore. 

Gloss, [reading]. From Groginhole — an express ! What's 
this 1 I'm amazed ! ! ! [Reading.] " They've actually, 
at the eleventh hour, started Mr. Evelyn ; and nobody 
knows what his politics are ! We shall be beat ! — the 
Constitution is gone ! — Cipher ! " Oh ! this is infamous 
in Evelyn ! Gets into Parliament just to keep himself 
out of the Bench. 

Smooth. He's capable of it. 

Gloss. Not a doubt of it, sir ! — Not a doubt of it ! 

Enter Sir John and Blount, talking. 

Sir John. My dear boy, I'm not flint ! I am but a 
man ! If Georgina really loves you — and I am sure that 
she does — I will never think of sacrificing her happiness to 
ambition — she is yours : I told her so this very morning. 

Blount [aside]. The old humbug ! 

Sir John. She's the best of daughters ! — the most obe- 
dient, artless creature ! Oh ! she's been properly brought 
up r a good daughter makes a good wife. Dine with me 
at seven, and we'll talk of the settlements. 

Blount. Yes ; I don't care for fortune ; — but 

Sir John. Her £10,000 will be settled on herself — that 
of course. 

Blount. All of it, sir 1 Weally, I 

Sir John. What then, my dear boy 1 I shall leave you 
both all I've laid by. Ah ! you know I'm a close fellow ! 
" Stingy Jack," — eh 1 After all, worth makes the man ! 

Smooth. And the more a man 's worth, John, the wor- 
thier man he must be. [Exit. 



388 MONEY. [act v. 

Blount [aside]. Yes ; he has no other child ! she must 
have all his savings ; I don't see what harm it could do 
me. Still that £10,000,-1 want that £10,000 : if she 
would but wun off now, one could get wid of the settle- 
ments. 

Enter Stout [wiping his foreliead], and takes Sir John aside. 

Stout. Sir John, we've been played upon ! My secre- 
tary is brother to Flash's head clerk ; Evelyn had not 
£300 in the bank ! 

Sir John. Bless us and save us ! you take away my 
breath ! But then — Deadly Smooth — the execution — 
the oh, he must be done up ! 

Stout. As to Smooth, he'd " do anything to oblige." 
All a trick, depend upon it ! Smooth has already de- 
ceived me, for before the day 's over, Evelyn will be mem- 
ber for Groginhole. I've had an express from Popkins ; 
he's in despair ! not for himself- — but for the country, Sir 
John — what's to become of the country ? 

Sir John. But what could be Evelyn's object ? 

Stout. Object ? Do you look for an object in a whim- 
sical creature like that 1 — a man who has not even any 
political opinions ! Object ! Perhaps to break off his 
match with your daughter ! Take care, Sir John, or the 
borough will be lost to your family ! 

Sir John. Aha ! I begin to smell a rat ! But it is not 
too late yet. 

Stout. My interest in Popkins made me run to Lord 
Spendquick, the late proprietor of Groginhole. I told 
him that Evelyn could not pay the rest of the money ! 
and he told me that 



Sir John. What 2 






SCENE I.] MONEY. 389 

Stout Mr. Sharp had just paid it him ; there's no hope 
for Popkins ! England will rue this day ! 

Sir John. Georgina shall lend him the money ! I'll 
lend him — every man in my house shall lend him — I feel 
again what it is to be a father-in-law! — [\4sm?<?.] But 
stop ; I'll be cautious. Stout may be on his side. — a trap 
— not likely ; but I'll go first to Spendquick myself. Sir 
Frederick, excuse me — you can't dine with me to-day. 
And, on second thoughts, I see that it would be very un- 
handsome to desert poor Evelyn, now he's down in the 
world. Can't think of it, my dear boy — can't think of 
it ! Yery much honoured, and happy to see you as a 
friend. Waiter, my carriage ! Urn ! What, humbug 
Stingy Jack, will they? Ah ! a good joke, indeed ! [Exit. 

Blount. Mr. Stout, what have you been saying to Sir 
John ? Something against my chawacter ; I know you 
have ; don't deny it. Sir, I shall expect satisfaction ! 

Stout. Satisfaction, Sir Frederick 1 as if a man of en- 
lightenment had any satisfaction in fighting ! Did not 
mention your name ; we were talking of Evelyn. Only 
think ! — he's no more ruined than you are. 

Blownt. Not wuined ! Aha, now I understand ! So, 
so ! Stay, let me see — she's to meet me in the square ! 
[Pulls out his watch ; a very small one. 

Stout [pulling out his own : a very large one]. I must 
be off to the vestry. 

Blount. Just in time ! — ten thousand pounds ! 'Gad, 
my blood 's up, and I won't be tweated in this way, if he 
were fifty times Stingy Jack ! [Exit. 



390 MONEY. [ACT V. 



SCENE II. 

The drawing-rooms in Sir John Vesey's house. 
Lady Franklin, Graves. 

Graves. Well, well, I am certain that poor Evelyn 
loves Clara still, but you can't persuade me that she cares 
for him. 

Lady Frank. She has been breaking her heart ever 
since she heard of his distress. Nay, I am sure she 
would give all she has, could it save him from the con- 
sequences of his own folly. 

Graves [half aside]. She would only give him his own 
money, if she did. I should like just to sound her. 

Lady Frank, [ringing the bell]. And you shall. I take 
so much interest in her, that I forgive your friend every- 
thing but his offer to Georgina. 

Enter Servant. 

Where are the young ladies 1 

Ser. Miss "Vesey is, I believe, still in the square : Miss 
Douglas is just come in, my lady. 

Lady Frank. What ! did she go out with Miss Vesey? 

Ser. No, my lady ; I attended her to Druinmond's the 
banker. [Exit. 

Lady Frank. Drummond's ! 

Enter Clara. 
Why, child, what on earth could take you to Drummond's 
at this hour of the day % 



SCENE II.] MONEY. 391 

Clara [confused]. Oh, I that is — I — Ah, Mr. 

Graves ! How is Mr. Evelyn ? How does he bear up 
again t so sudden a reverse? 

Graves. With an awful calm. I fear all is not right 
here ! [Touching his head]. — The report in the town is, 
that he must go abroad instantly — perhaps to-day. 

Clara. Abroad ! — to-day ! 

Graves. But all his creditors will be paid ; and he only 
seems anxious to know if Miss Vesey remains true in his 
misfortunes. 

Clara. Ah 1 he loves her so much, then ! 

Graves. Um ! — That's more than I can say. 

Clara. She told me last night, that he said to the last 
that £10,000 would free him from all his liabilities — that 
was the sum, was it not 1 

Graves. Yes ; he persists in the same assertion. Will 
Miss Vesey lend it 1 

Lady Frank, [aside]. If she does, I shall not think so 
well of her poor dear mother ; for I am sure she'd be no 
child of Sir John's ! 

Graves. I should like to convince myself that my poor 
friend has nothing to hope from a woman's generosity. 

Lady Frank. Civil ! And are men, then, less covetous ? 

Graves. I know one man, at least, who, rejected in his 
poverty by one as poor as himself, no sooner came into a 
sudden fortune than he made his lawyer invent a codicil 
which the testator never dreamt of, bequeathing independ- 
ence to the woman who had scorned him. 

Lady Frank. And never told her 1 

Graves. Never ! There's no such document at Doctors' 
Commons, depend on it ! You seem incredulous, Miss 
Clara ! Good day ! 



392 MONEY. [act v. 

Clara [following him]. One word, for mercy's sake S 
Do I understand you right 1 Ah, how could I be so 
blind ! Generous Evelyn ! 

Graves, You appreciate, and Georgina will desert him. 
Miss Douglas, he loves you still. — If that's not just like 
me ! Meddling with other people's affairs, as if they 
were worth it — hang them ! [Exit. 

Clara. Georgina will desert him. Do you think so ? — 
[^lsio?e.] Ah, he will soon discover that she never wrote 
that letter ! 

Lady Frank. She told me last night that she would 
never see him again. To do her justice, she's less inter- 
ested than her father, — and as much attached as she can 
be to another. Even while engaged to Evelyn, she has 
met Sir Frederick every day in the square. 

Clara. And he is alone — sad — forsaken — ruined. And 
I, whom he enriched — I, the creature of his bounty — I, 
once the woman of his love — I stand idly here to content 
myself with tears and prayers ! Oh, Lady Franklin, have 
pity on me — on him ! We are both of kin to him — as 
relations, we have both a right to comfort ! Let us go to 
. him — come ! 

Lady Frank. No ! it would scarcely be right — re- 
. member the world — I cannot ! 

Clara. All abandon him — then I will go alone ! 

Lady Frank. You ! — so proud — so sensitive ! 

Clara. Pride — when he wants a friend 1 

Lady Frank. His misfortunes are his own fault — a- 
: gambler ! 

Clara. Can you think of his faults now 1 I have no 
right to do so. All I have — all — his gift ! — and I never 
to have dreamed it ! 



SCENE III.] MONEY. 393 

Lady Frank. But if Georgiua do indeed release him — 
if she have already done so — what will he think 1 AVhat 
but 

Clara. What but — that, if he love me still, I may- 
have enough for both, and I am by his side ! But that 
is too bright a dream. He told me I might call him 
brother ! Where now, should a sister be \ But — but — 

I — I — I — tremble ! If, after all — if — if In one word, 

am I too bold ? The world — my conscience can answer 
that — but do you think that he could despise me ? 

Lady Frank. No, Clara, no ! Your fair soul is too 
transparent for even libertines to misconstrue. Some- 
thing tells me that this meeting may make the happiness 
of both ! You cannot go alone. My presence justifies 
all. Give me your hand — we will go together ! [Exeunt. 



SCENE III. 

A room in Evelyn's house. 

Eve. Yes ; as yet, all surpasses my expectations. I am 
sure of Smooth — I have managed even Sharp ; my elec- 
tion will seem but an escape from a prison. Ha ! ha ! 
True, it cannot last long ; but a few hours more are all I 
require, and for that time at least I shall hope to be 
thoroughly ruined. 

Enter Graves. 
Well, Graves, and what do people say of me 1 

.Graves. Everything that's bad ! 



394 MONEY. [act v. 

Eve. Three days ago I was universally respected. I 
awake this morning to find myself singularly infamous. 
Yet I'm the same man. 

Graves. Humph ! why, gambling 

Eve. Cant ! it was not criminal to gamble — it was 
criminal to lose. Tut ! — will you deny that if I had 
ruined Smooth instead of myself, every hand would have 
grasped mine yet more cordially, and every lip would have 
smiled congratulation on my success 1 Man — Man ! I've 
not been rich and poor for nothing ! The Vices and the 
Virtues are written in a language the world cannot 
construe ; it reads them in a vile translation, and the 
translators are — Failure and Success ! You alone 
are unchanged. 

Graves. There's no merit in that. I am always ready 
to mingle my tears with any man. — [^sicfe.] I know I'm 
a fool, but I can't help it. Hark ye, Evelyn ! I like you 
— I'm rich ; and anything I can do to get you out of your 
hobble will give me an excuse to grumble for the rest of 
my life. There, now 'tis out. 

Eve. [touched]. There's something good in human 
nature, after all ! My dear friend, I will now confide in 
you : I am not the spendthrift you think me — my losses 
have been trifling — not a month's income of my fortune, 
[Graves shakes him heartily by the hand.] No ! — it has 
been but a stratagem to prove if the love, on which was 
to rest the happiness of a whole life, were given to the 
Money or the Man. Now you guess why I have askec 
from Georgina this one proof of confidence and affection 
— Think you she will give it 1 

Graves. Would you break your heart if she did not '? 

Eve. It is in vain to deny that I still love Clara ; oui 



SCENE III.] MONEY. 395 

last conversation renewed feelings which would task all 
the energies of my soul to conquer. What then 1 I am 
not one of those, the Sybarites of sentiment, who deem it 
impossible for humanity to conquer love — who call their 
own weakness the voice of a resistless destiny. Such is 
the poor excuse of every woman who yields her honour — 
of every adulterer who betrays his friend. No ! the heart 
was given to the soul as its ally, not as its traitor. 

Graves. What do you tend to 1 

Eve. This : — If Georgina still adhere to my fortunes 
(and I will not put her to too harsh a trial) ; if she can 
fate the prospect, not of ruin and poverty, but of a mode- 
rate independence ; if, in one word, she love me for my- 
self, I will shut Clara for ever from my thoughts. I am 
pledged to Georgina, and I will carry to the altar a soul 
resolute to deserve her affection and fulfil its vows. 

Graves. And if she reject you 1 

Eve. [joyfully]. If she do, I am free once more' ! And 
then — then I will dare to ask, for I can ask without dis- 
honour, if Clara can explain the past and bless the future ! 

Enter Servant with a letter. 

Eve. [after reading ii\. The die is cast — the dream is 
over ! Generous girl ! Oh, Georgina ! I will deserve 
you yet. 

Graves. Georgina ! is it possible 1 

Eve. And the delicacy, the womanhood, the exquisite 
grace of this ! How we misjudge the depth of the human 
heart ! How, seeing the straws on the surface, we forget 
that the pearls may lie hid below ! * I imagined her in- 
capable of this devotion. 

* "Errors like straws," &c. 



396 money. [act v 

Graves. And / too. 

Eve. It were base in me to continue this trial a moment 
longer : I will write at once to undeceive that generous 
heart [writing]. 

Graves. I would have given £1,000 if that little jade 
Clara had been beforehand. But just like my luck : if I 
want a man to marry one woman, he's sure to marry 
another on purpose to vex me. [Evelyn rings the bell. 

Enter Servant. 

Eve. Take this instantly to Miss Vesey ; say I will call 
in an hour. [Exit Servant.] And now Clara is resigned 
for ever ! Why does my heart sink within me ? Why, 
why, looking to the fate to come, do I see only the memory 
of what has been 1 

Graves. You are re-engaged then to Georgina 1 

Eve. Irrevocably. 



SCENE IV. 
Enter Servant, announcing Lady Franklin and Miss Douglas. 
Evelyn and Graves. 

Lady Frank. My dear Evelyn, you may think it strange 
to receive such visitors at this moment ; but, indeed, it is 
no time for ceremony. We are your relations — it is re- 
ported you are about to leave the country — we come to 
ask frankly what we can do to serve you ? 

Eve. Madam — I 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 397 

Lady Frank. Come, come — do not hesitate to confide 
in us ; Clara is less a stranger to you than I am : your 
friend here will perhaps let me consult with him. — [Aside 
to Graves.] Let us leave them to themselves. 

Graves. You're an angel of a widow ; but you come too 

late, as whatever is good for anything generally does. 

[They retire into the inner room, which should be partially 
open. 

Eve. Miss Douglas, I may well want words to thank 
you ; this goodness — this sympathy 

Clara [abandoning herself to her emotion]. Evelyn ! 
Evelyn ! Do not talk thus ! — Goodness ! sympathy ! — 
I have learned all — all ! It is for me to speak of grati- 
tude ! What ! even when I had so wounded you — when 
you believed me mercenary and cold — when you thought 
that I was blind and base enough not to know you for 
what you are ; even at that time you thought but of my 
happiness — my fortunes — my fate ! — And to you — you — 
I owe all that has raised the poor orphan from servitude 
and dependence ! While your words were so bitter, your 
deeds so gentle ! Oh, noble Evelyn, this then was your 
revenge ! 

Eve. You owe me no thanks — that revenge was sweet ! 
Think you it was nothing to feel that my presence haunted 
you, though you knew it not 1 — that in things the pettiest 
as the greatest, which that gold could buy — the very 
jewels you wore — the very robe in which, to other eyes, 
you might seem more fair — in all in which you took the 
woman's young and innocent delight — / had a part — a 
share 1 that, even if separated for ever — even if another's 
— even in distant years — perhaps in a happy home, listen- 
ing to sweet voices that might call you " mother ! " — even 



398' MONEY. [act V. 

then should the uses of that dross bring to your lips one 
smile — that smile was mine — due to me — due, as a sacred 
debt, to the hand that you rejected — to the love that you 
despised ! 

Clara. Despised ! See the proof that I despise you ! — 
see : in this hour, when they say you are again as poor as 
before, I forget the world — my pride — perhaps too much 
my sex : I remember but your sorrows — I am here ! 

Eve. [aside]. Oh, Heaven ! give me strength to bear 
it ! — [Aloud.] And is this the same voice that, when I 
knelt at your feet — when I asked but one day the hope to 
call you mine — spoke only of poverty, and answered, 
"Never" ? 

Clara. Because I had been unworthy of your love if I 
had insured your misery. Evelyn, hear me ! My father, 
like you, was poor — generous ; gifted, like you, with ge- 
nius — ambition : sensitive, like you, to the least breath of 
insult. He married, as you would have done — married 
one whose only dower was penury and care ! Alfred, I 
saw that genius the curse to itself ! — I saw that ambition- 
wither to despair ! — I saw the struggle — the humiliation 
— the proud man's agony — the bitter life — the early 
death ! — and heard over his breathless clay my mother's 
groan of self-reproach ! Alfred Evelyn, now speak ! Was 
the woman you loved so nobly to repay you with such a 
doom ? 

Eve. Clara, we should have shared it ! 

Clara. Shared 1 Never let the woman who really loves, 
comfort her selfishness with such delusion ! In marriages 
like this, the wife cannot share the burden ; it is he — the 
husband — to provide, to scheme, to work, to endure — to 
grind out his strong heart at the miserable wheel ! The 



SCENE IV.] MONEY. 399 

wife, alas ! cannot share the struc^le — she can but witness 



"»o J 



the despair ! And therefore, Alfred, I rejected you. 

Eve. Yet you believe me as poor now as I was then. 

Clara. But / am not poor : we are not so poor. Of 
this fortune, which is all your own — if, as I hear, one half 
would free you from your debts, why, we have the other 
half still left. Evelyn ! it is humble — but it is not penury. 

Eve. Cease, cease — you know not how you torture me. 
Oh, that when hope was possible ;— oh, that you had bid 
me take it to my breast and wait for a brighter day ! 

Clara. And so have consumed your life of life upon a 
hope perhaps delayed till age — shut you from a happier 
choice, from fairer fortunes — shackled you with vows that, 
as my youth and its poor attributes decayed, would only 
have irritated and galled — made your whole existence 
one long suspense ! No, Alfred, even yet you do not 
know me ! 

Eve. Know you ! Fair angel, too excellent for man's 
harder nature to understand ! — at least it is permitted me 
to revere. Why were such blessed words not vouchsafed 
to me before 1 — why, why come they now 1 — too late ! 
Oh, Heaven — too late ! 

Clara. Too late ! What, then, have I said 1 

Eve. Wealth ! what is it without you ? With you, I 
recognize its power ; to forestall your every wish — to 
smooth your every path — to make all that life borrows 
from Grace and Beauty your ministrant and handmaid ; 
and then, looking to those eyes, to read there the trea- 
sures of a heart that excelled all that kings could lavish ; 
— why that were to make gold indeed a god ! But vain 
— vain — vain ! Bound by every tie of faith, gratitude, 
loyalty, and honour, to another ! 



400 MONEY. [ACT V. 

Clara. Another ! Is she, then, true to your reverses 1 
I did not know this — indeed I did not ! And I have 
thus betrayed myself ! O, shame ! he must despise me 
now J 



SCENE V. 

The foregoing. — Enter Sir John ; at the same time Graves and 
Lady Franklin advance from the inner room. 

Sir John [with dignity and frankness]. Evelyn, I was 
hasty yesterday. You must own it natural that I should 
be so. But Georgina has been so urgent in your defence, 

that [as Lady Franklin comes up to listen] Sister, 

just shut the door, will you that I cannot resist her. 

What's money without happiness 1 So give me your 
security ; for she insists on lending you the £10,000. 

Eve. I know, and have already received it. 

Sir John. Already received it ! Is he joking ? Faith, 
for the last two days I believe I have been living amongst 
the Mysteries of TJdolpho ! Sister, have you seen Geor- 
gina ? 

Lady Frank. Not since she went out to walk in the 
square. 

Sir John [aside]. She's not in the square nor the house 
— where the deuce can the girl be 1 

Eve. I have written to Miss Yesey — I have asked her 
to fix the day for our wedding. 

Sir John [joyfully]. Have you ? Go, Lady Franklin, 
find her instantly — she must be back by this time : take 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 401 

my carriage, it is but a step — you will not be two minutes 
gone. — [ilside.] I'd go myself, but I'm afraid of leaving 
him a moment while he's in such excellent dispositions. 

Lady Frank, [repulsing Clara]. No, no : stay till I 
return. \Exit. 

Sir John. And don't be down-hearted, my dear fellow ; 
if the worst come to the worst, you will have everything 
I can leave you. Meantime, if I can in any way help 
you 

Eve. Ha ! — you ! — you, too ? — Sir John, you have seen 
my letter to Miss Vesey 1 — [.isiafe] — or could she have 
learned the truth before she ventured to be generous 1 

Sir John. No ! on my honour. I only just called at 

the door on my way from Lord Spend that is, from 

the City. Georgina was out ; — was ever anything so 
unlucky ? — [ Without] [Hurrah — hurrah ! Blue for ever !] 
—What's that 1 

Enter Sharp. 

Sharp. Sir, a deputation from Groginhole — poll closed 
in the first hour — you are returned 1 Holloa, sir — 
holloa ! 

Eve. And it was to please Clara ! 

Sir John. Mr. Sharp — Mr. Sharp — I say, how much 
has Mr. Evelyn lost by Messrs. Flash and Co ? 

Sharp. Oh, a great deal, sir, — a great deal. 

Sir John, [alarmed]. How 1 — a great deal ! 

Eve. Speak the truth, Sharp, — concealment is all over. 

Sharp. .£223. 6s. 3c?. — a great sum to throw away ! 

Graves. Ah, I comprehend now ! Poor Evelyn caught 
in his own trap ! 

Sir John. Eh ! what, my dear boy 1 — what 1 Ha ! 
ha ! all humbug, was it 1 — all humbug, upon my soul ! 
2 D 



402 MONEY. [ACT V. 

So, Mr. Sharp, isn't he ruined after all 1 — not the least, 
wee, rascally, little bit in the world, ruined 1 

Sharp. Sir, he has never even lived up to his income, 

Sir John. Worthy man I I could jump up to the 
ceiling! I am the happiest father-in-law in the three 
kingdoms. — And that's my sister's knock, too. 

Clara. Since I was mistaken, cousin, — since, now, you 
do not need me, — forget what has passed ; my business 
here is over. Farewell ! 

Eve. Could you but see my heart at this moment, with 
what love, what veneration, what anguish it is filled, you 
would know how little, in the great calamities of life, 
fortune is really worth. And must we part now, — now, 

when — when 1 never wept before, since my mother 

died! 

Enter Lady Franklin and Georgin a, followed by 
Blount, who looks shy and embarrassed. 

Graves. Georgina herself — then there's no hope. 

Sir John. "What the deuce brings that fellow Blount 
here ? — Georgy, my dear Georgy, I want to 

Eve. Stand back, Sir John ! 

Sir John. But I must speak a word to her — l want 
to 

Eve. Stand back, I say, — not a whisper — not a sign. 
tf your daughter is to be my wife, to her heart only will 
I look for a reply to mine. 

Lady Frank, [to Georgina]. Speak the truth, niece. 

Eve. Georgina, it is true, then, that you trust me with 
^our confidence — your fortune ? It is also true, that when 
you did so you believed me ruined? Oh, pardon the 
3oubt ! Answer as if your father stood not there — answer 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 403 

me from that truth the world cannot yet have plucked 
from your soul — answer as if the woe or weal of a life 
trembled in the balance — answer as the woman's heart, 
yet virgin and unpolluted, should answer to one who has 
trusted to it his all ! 

Geor. What can he mean 1 

Sir John [making signs]. She '11 not look this way, 
she will not — hang her — Hem ! 

Eve. You falter. I implore — I adjure you — answer ! 

Lady Frank. The truth ! 

Geor. Mr. Evelyn, your fortune might well dazzle me r 
as it dazzled others. Believe me, I sincerely pity your 
reverses. 

Sir John. Good girl ! you hear her, Evelyn. 

Geor. What's money without happiness 1 

Sir John. Clever creature ! — my own sentiments ! 

Geor. And so, as our engagement is now annulled, — 
papa told me so this very morning, — I have promised my 
hand where I have given my heart — to Sir Frederick Blount. 

Sir John. I told you, — I ? No such thing — no such 
thing : you frighten her out of her wits — she don't know 
what she's saying. 

Eve. Am I awake 1 But this letter — this letter, 
received to-day 

Lady Frank, [looking over the letter]. Drummond's — 
from a banker ! 

Eve. Bead — read. 

Lady Frank. " Ten thousand pounds just placed to your 
account — from the same unknown friend to Evelyn." Oh, 
Clara, I know now why you went to Drummond's this 
morning. 

Eve. Clara ! What ! — and the former one with the 
2d2 



404 MONEY. [ACT V. 

same signature, on the faith of which I pledged my hand 
and sacrificed my heart 

Lady Frank. Was written under my eyes, and the 
secret kept that 

Eve. Look up, look up, Clara — I am free ! — I am 
released ! you forgive me 1 — you love me 1 — you are 
mine !' We are rich — rich ! I can give you fortune, 
power, — I can devote to you my whole life, thought, 
heart, soul — I am all yours, Clara — my own — my wife ! 

Sir John, [to Georgina]. So, you've lost the game by 
a revoke, in trumping your own father's best of a suit ! — 
Unnatural jade ! — Aha, Lady Franklin — I am to thank 
you for this ! 

Lady Frank. You've to thank me that she's not now 
on the road to Scotland with Sir Frederick. I chanced 
on them by the Park just in time to dissuade and save 
her. But, to do her justice, a hint of your displeasure 
was sufficient. 

Geor. [half-sobbing]. And you know, papa, you said this 
very morning that poor Frederick had been very ill-used 
and you would settle it all at the club. 

Blount. Come, Sir John, you can only blame yourself 
and Evelyn's cunning device. After all, I'm no such 
vewy bad match ; and as for the £10,000 

Eve. I'll double it. Ah, Sir John, what's money with- 
out happiness % 

Sir John. Pshaw — nonsense — stuff! Don't humbug 



me 



Lady Frank. But if you don't consent, she'll have no 
husband at all. 

Sir John. Hum ! there's something in that. [Aside to 
.Evelyn.] Double it, will you 1 Then settle it all tightly 



SCENE V.J MONEY. 405 

on her. Well — well — my foible is not avarice. Blount, 
make her happy. Child, I forgive you. — [Pinching her 
arm.] Ugh, you fool ! 

Graves [to Lady Franklin]. I'm afraid it's catching. 
What say you 1 I feel the symptoms of matrimony creep- 
ing all over me. Shall we, eh ? Frankly, now, frankly 

Lad;/ Frank. Frankly, now, there's my hand, on one 
condition, — that we finish our reel on the wedding- 
day. 

Graves. Accepted. Is it possible ? Sainted Maria ! 
thank Heaven you are spared this affliction I 

Enter Smooth. 

Smooth. How d'ye do, Altred 1 I intrude, I fear ! 
Quite a family party. 

Blount. Wish us joy, Smooth — Georgina's mine, and — 

Smooth. And our four friends there apparently have 
made up another rubber. John, my dear boy, you look 
as if you had something at stake on the odd trick. 

Sir John. Sir, your very Confound the fellow ! — 

and he's a dead shot, too ! 

Enter Stout and Glossmore hastily, talking with 
each other. 

Stout. I'm sure he's of our side ; we've all the intelli- 
gence. 

Gloss. I'm sure he's of our's if his fortune is safe, for 
we've all the property. — My dear Evelyn, you were out 
of humour yesterday — but I forgive you. 

Stout. Certainly ! — what would become of public life if 
a man were obliged to be two days running in the same 
mind ? — I rise to explain. — Just heard of your return, 
Evelyn. Congratulate you. The great motion of the 



40G MONEY. [ACT V 

session is fixed for Friday. We count on your vote. 
Progress with the times ! 

Gloss. Preserve the Constitution ! 

Stout. Your money will do wonders for the party ! — 
Advance ! 

Gloss. The party respects men of your property ! — 
Stick fast ! 

Eve. I have the greatest respect, I assure you, for the 
worthy and intelligent flies upon both sides the wheel ; 
but whether we go too fast or too slow, does not, I fancy, 
depend so much on the flies as on the Stout Gentleman 
who sits inside and pays the post-boys. Now all my 
politics as yet is to consider what's best for the Stout 
Gentleman ! 

Smooth. Meaning John Bull. Ce cher old John ! 

Stout. I'm as wise as I was before. 

Gloss. Sir, he's a trimmer ! 

Eve. Smooth, we have yet to settle our first piquet 
account and our last ! And I sincerely thank you for the 
service you have rendered to me, and the lesson you have 
given these gentlemen. — [Turning to Clara.] Ah, Clara, 
you — you have succeeded where wealth had failed ! You 
have reconciled me to the world and to mankind. My 
friends — we must confess it — amidst the humours and the 
follies, the vanities, deceits, and vices that play their parts 
in the great Comedy of Life — it is our own fault if we do 
not find such natures, though rare and few, as redeem the 
rest, brightening the shadows that are flung from the 
form and body of the time with glimpses of the everlast- 
ing holiness of truth and love. 

Graves. But for the truth and the love, when found, to 
make us tolerably happy, we should not be without 



SCENE V.] MONEY. 407 

Lady Frank. Good health ; 

Graves. Good spirits ; 

Clara. A good heart ; 

Smooth. An innocent rubber ; 

Geor. Congenial tempers ; 

Blount. A pwoper degwee of pwudenoe I 

Stout. Enlightened opinions ; 

Gloss. Constitutional principles ; 

Sir John. Knowledge of the world ; 

Eve. And plenty of Money ! 



NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM; 

OB, 

MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER 



Itotiw. 



TO 

HIS GEACE THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE, K.G. 

Mt Lord Duke, 

This Play is respectfully dedicated to your Grace in 
token of the earnest gratitude, both of Author and Performers, for 
the genial and noble sympathy which has befriended their exertions 
in the cause of their brotherhood. 

The debt that we can but feebly acknowledge, may those who 
come after us seek to repay ; and may each loftier Cultivator of 
Art and Letters, whom the Institution established under your 
auspices may shelter from care and penury, see on its corner-stone 
your princely name, — and perpetuate to distant times the affec- 
tionate homage it commands from ourselves. 

It is this hope that can alone render worthy the tribute which, 
in my own name as Author, and in the names of my companions 
the Performers, of the Play first represented at Devonshire House, 
I now offer to your Grace, with every sentiment that can deepen 
and endear the respect and admiration 

With which I have the honour to be, 
My Lord Duke, 
Your Grace's most obedient and faithful Servant, 

E. BULWER LYTTON. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



The Duke of Middlesex,"! Peers attached to tJie son of James II., 
The Earl of Loftus, i commonly called the First Pretender. 

Lord Wilmot, a young man at the head of the Mode more than a 
century ago, son to Lord Loftus. 

Mr. Shadowly Softhead, a young gentleman from the city, friend 
and double to Lord Wilmot. 

Hardman, a rising Member of Parliament, and adherent to Sir Robert 
Walpole. 

Sir Geoffrey Thornside, a gentleman of good family and estate. 
Mr. Goodenough East, in business, highly respectable, and a friend 

of Sir Geoffrey. 
Colonel Flint, a Fire-eater. 
Mr. Jacob Tonson, a Bookseller. 
Smart, Valet to Lord Wilmot. 
Hodge, Servant to Sir Geoffrey Thornside. 
Paddy O'Sullivan, Mr. Fallen's Landlord. 
Mr. David Fallen, Grubb Street Author and Pamphleteer. 

Coffee-House Loungers, Drawers, Newsmen, Watchmen, &c. dec. 

Lucy, daughter to Sir Geoffrey Thornside. 

Barbara, daughter to Mr. Easy. 

The Lady of Deadman's Lane (Lady Thornside). 

Date of Play — The Reign of George I. Scene — London. 

Time supposed to be occupied, from the noon of the first day to the 
afternoon of the second. 



NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM; 



MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 
Lord Wilmot's Apartment in St. James's. 

Smart [showing in a Masked Lady]. My Lord is dress- 
ing. As you say, madam, it is late. But though he 
never wants sleep more than once a week, yet when he 
does sleep, I am proud to say he sleeps better than any 
man in the three kingdoms. 

Lady. I have heard much of Lord Wilmot's eccen- 
tricities — but also of his generosity and honour. 

Smart. Yes, madam, nobody like him for speaking ill 
of himself and doing good to another. 

Enter Wilmot. 

Wil. " And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake." Any 
duels to-day, Smart 1 No — I see something more dan- 
gerous — a woman. [To Smart.] Vanish. [Placing a 
chair for Lady.] Madam, have I the honour to know 



414 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM \ [ACT I. 

you ? Condescend to remove your vizard. [Lady lifts 
her maslc.~\ Very fine woman, still — decidedly dangerous. 
Madam, allow me one precautionary observation — My 
affections are engaged. 

Lady. So I conjectured ; for I have noticed you from 
the window of my house, walking in the garden of Sir 
Geoffrey Thornside with his fair daughter : and Bhe seems 
worthy to fix the affections of the most fickle. 

Wil. My dear madam, do you know Sir Geoffrey ? 
Bind me to you for life, and say a kind word to him in 
my favour. 

Lady. Can you need it? — young, highborn, accom- 
plished 

Wil. Sir Geoffrey's very objections against me. He 
says I am a fine gentleman, and has a vehement aversion 
to that section of mortals, because he implies that a fine 
gentleman once did him a mortal injury. But you seem 
moved — dear lady, what is your interest in Sir Geoffrey 
or myself 1 

Lady. You shall know later. Tell me, did Lucy Thorn- 
side ever speak to you of her mother % 

Wil. Only to regret, with tears in her eyes, that she 
had never known a mother — that lady died, I believe, 
while Lucy was but an infant. 

Lady. When you next have occasion to speak to her, 
say that you have seen a friend of her mother, who 
has something to impart that may contribute to her 
father's happiness and her own. 

Wil. I will do your bidding this day, and 

Soft. \witlwut\ Oh, never mind announcing me, 
Smart. 

Lady [starting up], I would not be seen here — I must 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 415 

be gone. Call on me at nine o'clock this evening : this 
is my address. 

Enter Softhead, as Lord Wilmot is protecting Lady's 
retreat, and stares aghast 

Wil. [aside]. Do not fear him — best little fellow in the 
world, ambitions to be thought good for nothing, and 
frightened out of his wits at the sight of a petticoat- 
[Aloud, as he attends her out] Allow me to escort your 
Ladyship. 

Soft. Ladyship ! — lucky dog. But then he's such a villain ! 

Wil. [returning, and looking at the address]. Very mys- 
terious visitor — sign of Crown and Portcullis, Deadman's 
Lane — a very funereal residence. Ha, Softhead ! my 
Pylades — my second self ! Animce 

Soft. Enemy ! 

WU. Dimidium mece. 

Soft Dimi ! that's the oath last in fashion, I warrant. 
[With a swagger and a slap on the bach.] Dimidum mew, 
how d'ye do 1 ? But what is that lady 1 ? — masked too? 
Oh, Fred, Fred, you are a monster ! 

Wil. Monster ! ay, horrible ! That lady may well 
wear a mask. She has poisoned three husbands. 

Soft Dimidum mew. 

Wil. A mere harmless gallantry has no longer a charm 
for me. 

Soft. Nor for me either ! [-4s%&.] Never had. 

Wil. Nothing should excite us true men of pleasure 
but some colossal atrocity, to bring our necks within an 
inch of the gallows ! 

Soft. He's a perfect demon ! Alas, I shall never come 
up to his mark ! 



416 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT I. 

Enter Smart. 

Smart. Mr. Hardman, my Lord. 

Wil. Hush ! Must not shock Mr. Hardman, the most 
friendly, obliging man, and so clever — will be a minister 
some day. But not one of our set. 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. And how fares my dear Lord 1 

Wil. Bravely — and you % Ah ! you men who live for 
others have a hard life of it. Let me present you to my 
friend, Mr. Shadowly Softhead. 

Hard. The son of the great clothier who has such 
weight in the Guild ? I have heard of you from Mr. 
Easy and others, though never so fortunate as to meet 
you before, Mr. Softhead. 

Soft. Shadowly Softhead : — my grandmother was one of 
the Shadowlys — a genteel family that move about Court. 
She married a Softhead 

Wil. A race much esteemed in the city. 

Hard. A new picture, my Lord % I'm no very great 
judge — but it seems to me quite a master-piece. 

Wil. I've a passion for art. Sold off my stud to buy 
that picture. [^sic?e.] And please my poor father. Tis 
a Murillo. 

Hard. A Murillo ! you know that Walpole, too, has a 
passion for pictures. — In despair at this moment that he 
can't find a Murillo to hang up in his gallery. If ever 
you want to corrupt the Prime Minister's virtue, you have 
only to say, " I have got a Murillo." 

Wil. Well, if, instead of the pictures, he'll just hang up 
the men he has bought, you may tell him he shall have my 
Murillo for nothing ! 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 417 

Hard. Bought ! now really, my Lord, this is so vulgar a 
scandal against Sir Robert. Let me assure your Lordship 

Wil, Lordship ! Plague on these titles among friends. 
"Why, if the Duke of Middlesex himself — commonly styled 
" the Proud Duke " — who said to his Duchess, when she 
astonished his dignity one day with a kiss, " Madam, 
my first wife was a Percy, and she never took such a 
liberty;" * 



Hard. Ha ! ha ! well, if "the Proud Duke 



Wil. Could deign to come here, we would say, " How 
d'ye do, my dear Middlesex ! " 

Soft. So we would, Fred ! Middlesex. — Shouldn't you 
like to know a Duke, Mr. Hardman 1 

Hard. I have known one or two — in opposition : and 
had rather too much of 'em. 

Soft. Too much of a Duke ! La ! I could never have 
eno' of a Duke ? 

Hard. You may live to think otherwise. 
Enter Smart. 

Smart. His Grace the Duke of Middlesex. 
Enter Duke. 

Duke. My Lord Wilmot, your most obedient servant. 

* This well-known anecdote of the Proud Duke of Somerset, and 
some other recorded traits of the same eminent personage, have 
been freely applied to the character, intended to illustrate the 
humour of pride, in the comedy. None of our English memoirs 
afford, however, instances of that infirmity so extravagant as are to 
be found in the French. Tallamant has an anecdote of the cele- 
brated Duchesse de Longueville, which enlivens the burlesque by a 
bull that no Irish imagination ever surpassed. A surgeon having 
probably saved her life by bleeding her too suddenly and without 
sufficient ceremonial — the Duchesse said, on recovering herself, that 
" he was an insolent fellow to have bled her — in her presence,'" 



418 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM j [ACT I. 

Wil. [Aside. Now then, courage !] How d'ye do, my 
dear Middlesex 1 

Duke. "How d'ye do?" "Middlesex!" Gracious 
Heaven ; what will this age come to ? 

Hard, [to Softhead]. Well, it may be the fashion, — 
yet I could hardly advise you to adopt it. 

Soft. But if Fred 

Hard. Oh ! certainly Fred is an excellent model 



Soft. Yet there's something very awful in a live Duke ! 

Hard. Tut ! a mere mortal like ourselves, after all. 

Soft. D'ye really think so 1 — upon your honour 1 

Hard. Sir, I'm sure of it, — upon my honour, a mortal ! 

Duke [turning stiffly round, and half rising from his 
chair in majestic condescension]. Your Lordship's friends ? 
A good day to you, gentlemen ! 

Soft. And a good day to yourself. My Lord Du 

I mean, my dear boy ! — Middlesex, how d'ye do ? 

Duke. "Mid!"— "boy!"— "sex!"— "dear!" I must 
be in a dream. 

Wil. [to Softhead]. Apologise to the Duke. [To 
Hardman.] Then hurry him off into the next room. 
Allow me to explain to your Grace 

Soft. But what shall I say ? 

Hard. Anything most civil and servile. 

Soft. I — I — my Lord Duke, I really most humbly en- 
treat your Grace's pardon, I 

Duke. Small man, your pardon is granted, for your ex- 
istence is effaced. So far as my recognition is necessary 
to your sense of being, consider yourself henceforth — 
annihilated ! 

Soft. I humbly thank your Grace ! Annihilated ! 
v/nat's that ? 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 419 

Hard. Duke's English for excused. [Softhead wants 
to get back to the Duke.] What ! have not you had 
enough of the Duke 1 

Soft. No, now we've made it up. I never bear malice. 
I should like to know more of him ; one can't get at a Duke 
every day. If he did call me " small man," he is a Duke. 
— and such a remarkably fine one ! 

Hard, [drawing him away]. You deserve to be haunted 
by him ! No — no ! Come into the next room. 

[Exeunt through side-door. Softhead very reluctant to 
leave the Duke. 

Duke. There's something portentous in that small man's 
audacity. — Quite an aberration of Nature ! But we are 
alone now, we two gentlemen. Your father is my friend, 
and his son must have courage and honour. 

Wil. Faith, I had the courage to say I would call your 
Grace " Middlesex," and the honour to keep to my word. 
So I've given good proof that I've courage and honour 
enough for anything ! 

Luke [affectionately]. You're a wild boy. You have 
levities and follies. But alas ! even rank does not exempt 
its possessor from the faults of humanity. Very strange ! 
My own dead brother — [with a look of 'disgust.] 

Wil. Your brother, Lord Henry de Mowbray 1 My 
dear Duke, pray forgive me ; but I hope there's no truth 
in what Tonson, the bookseller, told me at Will's, — that 
your brother had left behind certain Confessions or Me- 
moirs, which are all that might be apprehended from a 
man of a temper so cynical, and whose success in the gay 
world was so — terrible. [Aside. Determined seducer and 
implacable cut-throat !] 

Duke. Ha ! then those Memoirs exist ! My brother 

O -p 9 

mi JS M 



420 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT I. 

kept his profligate threat. I shall be ridiculed, lampooned. 
I, the head of the Mowbrays ! Powers above, is nothing 
on earth, then, left sacred ! Can you learn in whose 
hands is this scandalous record 1 

Wil. I will try. Leave it to me. I know Lord Henry 
bore you a grudge for renouncing his connexion, on account 
of his faults — of humanity ! I remember an anecdote 
how he fought with a husband, some poor devil named 
Morland, for a boast in a tavern, which — Oh, but we'll 
not speak of that. We must get the Memoir. We gen- ' 
tlemen have all common cause here. 

Duke [taking his hand]. Worthy son of your father. 
You deserve, indeed, the trust that I come to confide to 
you. Listen. His Majesty, King James, having been 
deceived by vague promises in the Expedition of 'Fifteen, 
has very properly refused to imperil his rights again, 
unless upon the positive pledge of a sufficient number of 
persons of influence, to risk life and all in his service. 
Myself and some others, not wholly unknown to you, 
propose to join in a pledge which our King with such 
reason exacts. Your assistance, my Lord, would be valu- 
able, for you are the idol of the young. Doubts were 
entertained of your loyalty. I have come to dispel them 
— a word will suffice. If we succeed, you restore the son 
of a Stuart ; if we fail, — you will go to the scaffold by the 
side of John Duke of Middlesex ! Can you hesitate ? or 
is silence assent ? 

Wil. My dear Duke, forgive me that I dismiss with a 
jest a subject so fatal, if gravely entertained. I have so 
many other engagements at present that, just to recollect 
them, I must keep my head on my shoulders. Accept 
my humblest excuses. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 421 

Duke. Accept mine for mistaking the son of Lord 
Loftus. [Goes up to C. D. 

Wil. Lord Loftus again ! Stay. Your Grace spoke 
of persons not wholly unknown to me. I entreat you to 
explain. 

Duke. My Lord, I have trusted you with my own life ; 
but to compromise by a word the life of another ! — permit 
me to remind your Lordship that I am John Duke of 
Middlesex. [Exit 

Wil. Can my father have entangled himself in some 
Jacobite plot 1 How shall I find out 1 — Ha ! Hardman, 
Hardman, I say ! Here's a man who finds everything 
out. 

Enter Hardman and Softhead. 

Softhead, continue annihilated for the next five minutes 
or so. These books will help to the cessation of your 
existence, mental and bodily. Mr. Locke, on the Under- 
standing, will show that you have not an innate idea ; and 
the Essay of Bishop Berkely will prove you have not an 
atom of matter. 

Soft. But 

Wil. No buts ! — they're the fashion. 

Soft. Oh, if they're the fashion 

[Seats himself at the further end of the room ; commences 
vigorously with Berkely and Locke, first one and then 
the other, and after convincing himself that they are 
above his comprehension, gradually subsides from despair 
into dozing. 

Wil. [to Hardman]. My dear Hardman, you are the 
only one of my friends whom, in spite of your politics, 
my high Tory father condescends to approve of. Every 



422 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM j [ACT I. 

one knows that his family were stout cavaliers attached 
to the Stuarts. 

Hard. [Aside]. Ah ! I guess why the Jacobite Duke 
has been here. I must look up David Fallen ; he is in 
all the schemes for the Stuarts. Well — and 

Wil. And the Jacobites are daring and numerous ; and, 
— in short, I should just like to know that my father 
views things with the eyes of our more wise generation. 

Hard. Why not ask him yourself 1 

Wil. Alas ! I'm in disgrace ; he even begs me not to 
come to his house. You see he wants me to marry. 

Hard. But your father bade me tell you, he would 
leave your choice to yourself; —would marriage then 
seem so dreadful a sacrifice 1 

Wil. Sacrifice ! Leave my choice to myself ? My dear 
father. [Rings the hand-bell.'] Smart ! [Enter Smart.] 
Order my coach. 

Hard. This impatience looks very like love. 

Wil. Pooh ! what do you know about love ? — you, — 
who love only ambition ! Solemn old jilt, with whom 
one's never safe from a rival. 

Hard. Yes ; — always safe from a rival, both in love and 
ambition, if one will watch to detect, and then scheme to 
destroy him. 

Wil. Destroy — ruthless exterminator ! May we never 
be rivals ! Pray keep to ambition. 

Hard. [Aside]. But ambition lures me to love. This 
fair Lucy Thornside, as rich as she's fair ! woe indeed to 
the man who shall be my rival with her. I will call 
there to-day. 

Wil. Then, you'll see my father, and sound him 2 

Hard. I will do so. 



SCENE I.] OK, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 423 

Wil. You are the best friend I have. If ever I can 
serve you in return 

Hard. Tut ! in serving my friends, 'tis myself that I 
serve. / [Exit. 

Wil. [after a moment's though&\. Now to Lucy. Ha ! 
Softhead. 

Soft, [ivaking up]. Heh ! 

Wil. [Aside]. I must put this suspicious Sir Geoffrey 
on a wrong scent. If Softhead were to make love to the 
girl — violently — desperately. 

Soft, [yawning]. I would give the world to be tucked 
up in bed now ! 

Wil. I've a project — an intrigue — be all life and all 
fire ! Why, you tremble 

Soft. With excitement. Proceed ! 

Wil. There's a certain snarling, suspicious Sir Geoffrey 
Thornside, with a beautiful daughter, to whom he is a 
sort of a one-sided bear of a father — all growl and no 
hug. 

Soft. I know him ! 

Wil You. How? 

Soft. Why, his most intimate friend is Mr. Goodenough 
Easy. 

Wil. Lucy presented me to a Mistress Barbara Easy. 
Pretty girl. 

Soft. You are not courting her ? 

Wil. Not at present. Are you 1 

Soft. Why, my father wants me to marry her. 

Wil. You refused 1 

Soft. No. I did not. 

Wil. Had she that impertinence ? 

Soft. No j but her father had. He wished for it once ; 



424 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT I. 

but since I've become a la mode, and made a sensation at 
St. James's, he says that his daughter shall be courted no 
more by a man of such fashion. Oh ! he's low, Mr. Easy : 
very good-humoured and hearty, but respectable, sober, 
and square-toed ; — decidedly low ! — City bred ! So I can't 
go much to his house ; but I see Barbara sometimes at 
Sir Geoffrey's. 

Wil. Excellent ! Listen : I am bent upon adding Lucy 
Thornside to the list of my conquests. But her churl of 
a father has already given me to understand that he hates 
a lord 

Soft. Hates a lord ! Can such men. be 1 

Wil. And despises a man. a la mode. 

Soft. I knew he was eccentric, but this is downright 
insanity. 

Wil. Brief. I see veiy well that he'll soon shut his 
doors in my face, unless I make him believe that it is not 
his daughter who attracts me to his house ; so I tell you 
what we will do ; — you shall make love to Lucy — violent 
love, you rogue. 

Soft. But Sir Geoffrey knows I'm in love with the other. 

Wil. That's over. Father refused you — transfer of af- 
fection ; natural pique and human inconstancy. And, in 
return, to oblige you, I'll make love just as violent to 
Mistress Barbara Easy. 

Soft. Stop, stop ; I don't see the necessity of that. 

Wil. Pooh ! nothing more clear. Having thus duped 
the two lookers on, we shall have ample opportunity to 
change partners, and hands across, then down the middle 
and up again. 

Enter Smart. 

Smart. Your coach waits, my Lord. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 425 

Wil. Come along. Fie ! that's not the way to conduct 
a cane. Has not Mr. Pope, our great poet of fashion, 
given you the nicest instructions in that art ? 

" Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane." 

The cane does not conduct you ; you conduct the cane. 
Thus, with a debonnair swing. Now, t'other hand on 
your haunch ; easy, degage — impudently graceful ; with 
the air of a gentleman, and the heart of a — monster ! 
Allons ! Vivelajoie. 

Soft. Vive la jaw, indeed. I feel as if I were going to 
be hanged. Allons! Vive la jaw! . [Exeunt. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 

Library in the hous* of Sir Geoffrey Thornsids— At the bach 
a large window opening nearly to the ground — Side-door to an adjoin- 
ing room — Style of decoration, that introduced from the Dutch in the 
reign of William III. {old-fashioned, therefore, at the date assigned to 
the Play) — rich and heavy ; oalc pannels, partly gilt; high-backed 
chairs, <£c. 

Enter Sir Geoffrey and Hodge. 

Sir Geo/. But I say the dog did howl last night, and 
it is a most suspicious circumstance. 

Hodge. Pegs, my dear Measter, if you'se think that 
these Lunnon thieves have found out that your honour's 
rents were paid last woik, mayhap I'd best sleep here in 
the loibery. 



426 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT JlI. 

Sir Geo/. [Aside], How does he know I keep my monies 
here ? 

Hodge. Zooks ! I'se the old blunderbuss, and that will 
boite better than any dog, I'se warrant ! 

Sir Geo/. [Aside. I begin to suspect him. For ten 
years have I nursed that viper at my hearth, and now he 
wants to sleep in my library, with a loaded blunderbuss, 
in case I should come in and detect him. I see murder 
in his very face. How blind I've been !] Hodge, you 
are very good — very; come closer. [Aside. "What a felon 
step he has !] But I don't keep my rents here, they're 
all gone to the banker's. 

Hodge. Mayhap I'd best go and lock up the plate ; or 
will you send that to the banker's 1 

Sir Geo/. [Aside, I wonder if he has got an accomplice 
at the banker's ! It looks uncommonly like it.] No, I'll 
not send the plate to the banker's, I'll — consider. You've 
not detected the miscreant who has been flinging flowers 
into the library the last four days 1 — or observed any one 
watching your master when he walks in his garden, from 
the window of that ugly old house in Deadman's Lane 1 

Hodge. With the sign of the Crown and Poor C alley ! 
Why, it maun be very leately. Tint a week ago 'sin it 
war empty. 

Sir Geo/. [Aside. How he evades the question ! — just 
as they do at the Old Bailey.] Get along with you and 
feed the house-dog — he's honest ! 

Hodge. Yes, your honour. [Exit. 

Sir Geo/. I'm a very unhappy man, very. Never did 
harm to any one — done good to many. And ever since 
I was a babe in the cradle, all the world have been con- 
spiring and plotting against me. It certainly is an ex- 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 427 

ceedingly wicked world ; and what its attraction can be 
to the other worlds, that they should have kept it spin- 
ning through space for six thousand years, I can't possibly 
conceive — unless they are as bad as itself; I should not 
wonder. That new theory of attraction is a very sus- 
picious circumstance against the planets — there's a gang 
of 'em ! [A bunch of flowers is thrown in at the window.] 
Heaven defend me ! There it is again ! This is the fifth 
bunch of flowers that's been thrown at me through the 
window — what can it possibly mean 1 — the most alarming 
circumstance. 

[Cautiously poking at the flowers with his sword. 

Mr. Goodenough Easy [without]. Yes, Barbara, go and 
find Mistress Lucy. [Entering.] How d'ye do, my hearty? 

Sir Geo/. Ugh ! hearty, indeed ! 

Easy. Why, what's the matter 1 what are you poking 
at those flowers for 1 ? — is there a snake in them ? 

Sir Geo/. Worse than that, I suspect ! Hem ! Good- 
enough Easy, I believe I may trust you 

Easy. You trusted me once with five thousand pounds. 

Sir Geo/ Dear, dear, I forgot that. But you paid me 
back, Easy 1 

Easy. Of course ; but the loan saved my credit, and 
made my fortune : so the favour 's the same. 

Sir Geo/ Ugh ! Don't say that ; favours and perfidy 
go together ! a truth I learned early in life. What favours 
I heaped on my foster-brother. And did not he conspire 
with my cousin to set my own father against me ; and 
trick me out of my heritage 1 

Easy. But you've heaped favours as great on the son of 
that scamp of a foster-brother ; and he 



428 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT IL 

Sir Geo/. Ay ! but he don't know of them. And then 
there was my that girl's mother 

Easy. Ah ! that was an affliction which might well 
turn a man, pre-inclined to suspicion, into a thorough 
self-tormentor for the rest of his life. But she loved you 
dearly once, old friend ; and were she yet alive, and could 
be proved guiltless after all 

Sir Geo/. Guiltless ! Sir 1 

Easy. Well — well ! we agreed never to talk upon that 
subject. Come, come, what of the nosegay '? 

Sir Geo/. Yes, yes, the nosegay ! Hark ! I suspect 
some design on my life. The dog howled last night. 
When I walk in the garden, somebody or something 
(can't see what it is) seems at the watch in a window 
in Deadman's Lane — pleasant name for a street at the 
back of one's premises ! And what looks blacker than 
all, for five days running, has been thrown in at me, 
yonder, surreptitiously and anonymously, what you call — 
a nosegay ! 

Easy. Ha ! ha ! you lucky dog ! — you are still not 
bad-looking ! Depend on it the flowers come from a 
woman. 

Sir Geo/. A woman ! — my worst fears are confirmed ! 
In the small city of Placentia, in one year, there were no 
less than seven hundred cases of slow poisoning, and all 
by women. Flowers were among the instruments they 
employed, steeped in laurel water and other mephitic 
preparations. Those flowers are poisoned. Not a doubt 
of it ! — how very awful ! 

Easy. But why should any one take the trouble to 
poison you, Geoffrey 1 

Sir Geo/. I don't know. But I don't know why seven 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 429 

hundred people in one year were poisoned in Placentia. 

Hodge ! Hodge ! 

Enter Hodge. 

Sweep away those flowers ! — lock 'em up with the rest in 
the coal-hole. I'll examine them all chemically, by and 
by, with precaution. [Exit Hodge.] Don't smell at 'em ; 
and, above all, don't let the house-dog smell at 'em. 

Easy. Ha ! ha ! 

Sir Geof. [Aside. Ugh ! — that brute 's laughing ! — no 
more feeling than a brick-bat !] Goodenough Easy, you 
are a very happy man. 

Easy. Happy, yes. I could be happy on bread and water. 

Sir Geof. And would toast your bread at a conflagration, 
and fill your jug from a deluge ! Ugh ! I've a trouble 
you are more likely to feel for, as you've a girl of your 
own to keep out of mischief. A man named Wilmot, and 
styled " my Lord," has called here a great many times } 

he pretends he saved my ahem ! — that is, Lucy, from 

footpads, when she was coming home from your house in 
a sedan chair. And I suspect that man means to make 
love to her ! 

Easy. Egad ! that's the only likely suspicion you've hit 
on this many a day. I've heard of Lord Wilmot. Soft- 
head professes to copy him. Softhead, the son of a trader \ 
he be a lounger at White's and Will's, and dine with wits 
and fine gentlemen ! He live with lords ! — he mimic 
fashion ! No ! I've respect for even the faults of a man ; 
but I've none for the tricks of a monkey. 

Sir Geof. Ugh ! you're so savage on Softhead, I suspect 
'tis from envy. Man and monkey, indeed ! If a ribbon 
is tied to the tail of a monkey, it is not the man it enrages ; 
it is some other monkey whose tail has no ribbon ! 



430 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT II. 

Easy [angrily]. I disdain your insinuations. Do you 
mean to imply that I am a monkey 1 I will not praise 
myself ; but at least a more steady, respectable, sober . 

Sir Geof. Ugh ! sober ! — I suspect you'd get as drunk 
as a lord, if a lord passed the bottle. 

Easy. Now, now, now. Take care ; — you'll put me in 
a passion. 

Sir Geof. There — there — beg pardon. But I fear 
you've a sneaking respect for a lord. 

Easy. Sir, I respect the British Constitution and the 
House of Peers as a part of it ; but as for a lord in him- 
self, with a mere handle to his name, a paltry title ! Tliat 
can have no effect on a Briton of independence and sense. 
And that's just the difference between Softhead and me. 
But as you don't like for a son-in-law the real fine gen- 
tleman ; perhaps you've a mind to the copy. I am sure 
you are welcome to Softhead. 

Sir Geof. Ugh ! I've other designs for the girl. 

Easy. Have you ? What ? Perhaps your favourite, 
young Hardman 1 — by the way, I've not met him here 

lately. 

Enter Lucy and Barbara, 

Lucy. O, my dear father, forgive me if I disturb you ; 
but I did so long to see you ! 

Sir Geof. Why ? 

Lucy. Ah, father, is it so strange that your child 

Sir Geof [interrupting her]. Why 1 

Lucy. Because Hodge told me you'd been alarmed last 
night — the dog howled ! But it was full moon last night, 
and he will howl at the moon ! 

Sir Geof. [Aside]. How did she know it was full moon ? 
I suspect she was looking out of the window 



SCENE 1.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 431 

[Enter Hodge, announcing Lord Wilmot and Mr. 
Shadowly Softhead]. — "Wilmot ! my suspicions are con- 
firmed ; she was looking out of the window ! This comes 
of Shakspeare having written that infernal incendiary 
trash about Romeo and Juliet ! 

Enter Wilmot and Softhead. 

Wil. Your servant, ladies ; — Sir Geoffrey, your servant. 
I could not refuse Mr. Softhead's request to inquire after 
your health. 

Sir Geo/. I thank your lordship ; but when my health 
wants inquiring after I send for the doctor. 

Wil. Is it possible you can do anything so dangerous 
and rash % 

Sir Geo/. How 1 — how 1 

Wil. Send for the very man who has an interest in 
your being ill ! 

Sir Geo/. [Aside]. That's very true. I did not think he 
had so much sense in him ! 

[Sir Geoffrey and Easy retire up the stage. 

Wil. I need not inquire how you are, ladies 1 When 
Hebe retired from the world, she divided her bloom 
between you. Mistress Barbara, vouchsafe me the honour 
a queen accords to the meanest of her gentlemen. 

[Kisses Bakbaea's hand, and leads her aside, conversing in 
dumb show. 

Soft. Ah, Mistress Lucy, vouchsafe me the honour 
which — [Aside. But she don't hold her hand in the 
same position.] 

Easy. Bravo ! — bravo ! Master Softhead ! — Encore ! 

Soft. Bravo ! — Encore ! I don't understand you, Mr. 
Easy. 



432 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT II. 

Easy. That bow of yours ! Perfect. Plain to see you 
have not forgotten the old Dancing Master in Crooked 
Lane. 

Soft. [Aside. I'm not an inconstant man ; but I'll 
show that City fellow, there are other ladies in town 
besides his daughter.] — Dimidum mece, how pretty you 
are, Mistress Lucy ! [Walks aside with her. 

Sir Geo/. That popinjay of a lord is more attentive to 
Barbara than ever he was to the other. 

Easy. Hey ! hey ! D'ye think so 1 

Sir Geof. I suspect he has heard how rich you are. 

Wilmot and Barbara approaching. 
Ear. Papa, Lord Wilmot begs to be presented to you. 

[Bows interchanged. Wilmot offers snuff-box. Easy at first 
declines, then accepts — sneezes violently ; unused to snuff. 

Sir Geof. He ! he ! quite clear ! — titled fortune- 
hunter. Over head and ears in debt, I dare say. [Takes 
Wilmot aside.~\ Pretty girl, Mistress Barbara ! Eh 1 

Wit. Pretty ! Say beautiful ! 

Sir Geof. He ! he ! Her father will give her fifty 
thousand pounds down on the wedding-day. 

Wil. I venerate the British merchant who can give 
his daughter fifty thousand pounds ! What a smile she 
has ! [Hooking his arm into Sir Geoffrey's.] I say, 
Sir Geoffrey, you see I'm very shy — bashful, indeed — and 
Mr. Easy is watching every word I say to his daughter : 
so embarrassing ! Couldn't you get him out of the room \ 

Sir Geof. Mighty bashful, indeed ! Turn the oldest 
friend I have out of my room, in order that you may 
make love to his daughter ! [Turns away. 

Wil. [to Easy]. I say, Mr. Easy. My double, there, 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 433 

Softhead, is so shy — bashful indeed — and that suspicious 
Sir Geoffrey is watching every word he says to Mistress 
Lucy : so embarrassing ! Do get your friend out of the 
room, will you ! 

Easy. Ha ! ha ! Certainly, my lord. [Aside. I see 
he wants to be alone with my Barbara. What will they 
say in Lombard-street, when she's my lady ? Shouldn't 
wonder if they returned me M.P. for the city.] Come 
into the next room, Geoffrey ; and tell me your designs 
for Lucy. 

Sir Geof. Oh, very well ! You wish to encourage that 

pampered young — Satrap ! How he does love a lord, 

and how a lord does love fifty thousand pounds ! He ! he ! 

[Exeunt Sir Geoffrey and Easy. 

Wil. [running to Lucy and pushing aside Softhead]. 
Return to your native allegiance. Truce with the enemy 
and exchange of prisoners. 

[Leads Lucy aside — she rather grave and reluctant. 

Bar. So, you'll not speak to me, Mr. Softhead ; words 
are too rare with you fine gentlemen to throw away upon 
old friends. 

Soft. Ahem ! 

Bar. You don't remember the winter evenings you 
used to pass at our fire-side ? nor the mistletoe bough at 
Christmas ? nor the pleasant games at Blind-man's Buff 
and Hunt the Slipper ? nor the strong tea I made you 
when you had the migraine ? Nor how I prevented your 
eating Banbury cake at supper, when you know it always 
disagrees with you 1 — But I suppose you are so hardened 
that you can eat Banbury cake every night now ! — I'm 
sure 'tis nothing to me ! 

Soft. Those recollections of one's early innocence are 
2f 



434 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT II. 

very melting ! One renounces a great deal of happiness 
for renown and ambition. — Barbara ! 

Bar. Shadowly ! 

Soft. However one may rise in life — however the 
fashion may compel one to be a monster 

Bar. A monster 1 

Soft. Yes, Fred and I are both monsters ! Still — 
still — still — 'Ecod, I do love you with all my heart, and 
that's the truth of it. 

Wilmot and Lucy advancing. 

Lucy. A friend of my lost mother's. Oh ! yes, dear 
Lord Wilmot, do see her again — learn what she has to 
say. There are times when I so long to speak of that — 
my mother ; but my father shuns even to mention her 
name. Ah, he must have loved her well ! 

Wil. What genuine susceptibility ! I have found what 
I have sought all my life, the union of womanly feeling 
and childlike innocence. 

[Attempts to talce her hand ; Lucy withdraws it coyly. 

Nay, nay, if the renunciation of all youthful levities 
and follies, if the most steadfast adherence to your side — 
despite all the chances of life, all temptations, all dan- 
gers [Hardman's voice without. 

Bar. Hist ! some one coming. 

Wil. Change partners ; hands across. My angel 
Barbara ! 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. Lord Wilmot here ! 
Wil. What ! does he know Sir Geoffrey 1 
Bar. Oh yes. Sir Geoffrey thinks there's nobody like 
him. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 435 

Wil. Well met, my dear Hardman. So you are 
intimate here ? 

Hard. Ay ; and you 1 

Wil. An acquaintance in its cradle. Droll man, Sir 
Geoffrey ; I delight in odd characters. Besides, here are 
other attractions. [Returning to Barbara. 

Hard. [Aside], If he be my rival ! Hum ! I hear 
from David Fallen that his father's on the brink of high 
treason ! That secret gives a hold on the son. 

[Joins Lucy. 

Wil. [to Barbara]. You understand ; 'tis a compact. 
You will favour my stratagem ? 

Bar. Yes ; and you'll engage to cure Softhead of his 
taste for the fashion, and send him back to the City. 

Wil. Since you live in the City, and condescend to 
regard such a monster ! 

Bar. "Why, we were brought up together. His health 
is so delicate ; I should like to take care of him. Heigho ! 
I am afraid 'tis too late, and papa will never forgive his 
past follies. 

Wil. Yet papa seems very good-natured. Perhaps 
there's another side to his character ? 

Bar. Oh yes ! He is such a very independent man, 
my papa ! and has such a contempt for people who go 
out of their own rank, and make fools of themselves for 
the sake of example. 

Wil. Never fear ; I'll ask him to dine, and open his 
heart with a cheerful glass. 

Bar. Cheerful glass ! You don't know papa — the 
soberest man ! If there's anything on which he's severe, 
'tis a cheerful glass. 

Wil. So, so ! does not he ever — get a little excited ? 
2 f 2 



43G NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT III. 

Z?ar. Excited ! Don't think of it ! Besides, he is so 
in awe of Sir Geoffrey, who would tease him out of his life, 
if he could but hear that papa was so inconsistent as to — 
as to 

Wil. As to get — a little excited 1 [Aside. These hints 
should suffice me ! 'Gad, if I could make him tipsy for 
once in a way ! — I'll try.] Adieu, my sweet Barbara, 
and rely on the zeal of your faithful ally. Stay ; tell Mr. 
Easy that he must lounge into Will's. I will look out 
for him there in about a couple of hours. He'll meet 
many friends from the City, and all the wits and fine 
gentlemen. Alio. is ! Vive la joie I Softhead, we'll have 
a night of it ! 

Soft. Ah ! those were pleasant nights when one went 
to bed at half after ten. Heigho ! 

[As Hardman Jcisses Lucy's hand, Wilmot gaily hisses 
Barbara's — Hardman observes him with a little sus- 
picion— Wilmot returns his look lightly and carelessly 
— Lucy and Barbara conscious. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 

WilVs Coffee-house; occupying the depth of the stage. Various 
groups; some seated in boxes, some standing. In a box at the side, 
David Fallen seated writing. 

Enter Easy, speaking to various acquaintances as he 
passes to the background'. 

How d'ye do 1 — Have you seen my Lord Wilmot ? 
— Good day. — Yes ; I seldom come here ; but I've pro- 
mised to meet an intimate friend of mine — Lord Wilmot. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 437 

— Servant, sir ! — looking for my friend Wilmot : — Oh \ 
not come yet ! — hum — ha ! — charming young man, Wil« 
mot : head of the mode ; generous, but prudent. I know 
all his affairs. 

Enter Newsman. 

Great news ! great news ! Suspected Jacobite Plot ! 
Fears of ministers ! — Army to be increased ! — Great news ! 

[Coffee-house frequenters gather round Newsman — tafapapert 
— form themselves into fresh groups. 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. I have sent off my letter to Sir Robert Walpole. 
This place, he must give it ; the first favour I have asked. 
Hope smiles ; I am at peace with all men. Now to save 
Wilmot's father. [Approaches the box at which David 
Fallen is writing, and stoops down, as -if arranging his 
buckle.] [To Fallen. Hist ! Whatever the secret, re- 
member, not a word save to me.] 

[Passes down the stage, and is eagerly greeted hy various 
frequenters of tlie Coffee-house. 

Enter Lord Loftus. 

Lord Lof. Drawer, I engage this box ; give me the 
newspaper. So — "Rumoured Jacobite plot — " 

Enter the Duke of Middlesex. 

Duke. My dear Lord, I obey your appointment. But is 
not the place you select rather strange ? 

Lof. Be seated, I pray you. No place so fit for our 
purpose. First, because its very publicity prevents all 
suspicion. We come to a coffee-house, where all ranks 
and all parties assemble, to hear the news, like the rest. 
And, secondly, we could scarcely meet our agent anywhere 



438 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT III. 

else, fie is a Tory pamphleteer : was imprisoned for our 
sake in the time of William and Mary. If we, so well 
known to be Tories, are seen to confer with him here, 
'twill only be thought that we are suggesting some points 
in a pamphlet. May I beckon our agent % 

Duke. Certainly. He risks his life for us ; he shall be 

duly rewarded. Let him sit by our side. [Lord Loftus 

motions to David Fallen, who takes up his pamphlet and 
approaches openly.] — I have certainly seen somewhere 
before that very thin man. Be seated, sir. Honourable 
danger makes all men equal. 

Fal. No, my Lord Duke. I know you not. It is the 
Earl I confer with. [Aside. I never stood in his hall, 
with lacqueys and porters.] 

Duke. Powers above ! That scare-crow rejects ray ac- 
quaintance ! Portentous ! [Stunned and astonished. 

Lof. Observe, Duke, we speak in a sort of jargon. 
Pamphlet means messenger. [To Fallen aloud.] Well, 
Mr. Fallen, when will the pamphlet be ready 1 

Fal. [aloud]. To-morrow, my Lord, exactly at one 
o'clock. 

Duke [still bewildered]. I don't understand — 

Lof. Hush ! Walpole laughs at pamphlets, but would 
hang messengers. [Aloud]. To-morrow, not to-day ! 
Well, more time for 

Fal. Subscribers. Thank you, my Lord. [Whispering. 
Where shall the messenger meet you 1] 

Lof. At the back of the Duke's new house, there is a 
quiet, lone place 

Fal. [whispering]. By the old mill near the Thames ? 
I know it. The messenger shall be there. The signal 
word, "Marston Moor." No conversation should pass. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 439 

But who brings the packet 1 That's the first step of 
danger. 

Duke [suddenly rousing himself, and with dignity]. Then 
'tis mine, sir, in right of my birth. 

Fal. [aloucl]. I'll attend to all your Lordship's sugges- 
tions ; they're excellent, and will startle this vile adminis- 
tration. Many thanks to your Lordship. 

[Returns to his table and resumes his writing. Groups point 
and murmur. Jacob Tonson advances. 

Easy. That pestilent scribbler, David Fallen ! Another 
libellous pamphlet as bitter as the last, I'll swear. 

Ton. Bitter as gall, sir, I am proud to say. Your 
servant ; Jacob Tonson, the bookseller, — at your service. 
I advanced a pound upon it. 

Duke. I will meet you in the Mall to-morrow, a quarter 
after one precisely. We may go now 1 Powers above ! 
— his mind 's distracted — he walks out before me ! 

Lof. [drawing bach at the door]. I follow you, Duke. 

Duke. My dear friend — if you really insist on it 1 

[Exeunt, bowing. 

Hard, [as the Drawer places the wine, &c, on the table]. 
Let me offer you a glass of wine, Mr. Fallen — [Aside. 
Well 1— ] 

[Fallen, who has been writing, pushes the paper towards him. 

Hard, [reading]. " At one to-morrow — by the old mill 
near the Thames — Marston Moor — the Duke in person ' 
— So ! We must save these men. — I will call on you in 
the morning, and concert the means. 

Fal. Yes, save, not destroy, these enthusiasts. I'm re- 
signed to the name of a hireling — not to that of a butcher ! 

Hard. You serve both Whig and Jacobite ; do you 
care then for either 1 



440 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT IIL 

Fal. Sneering politician ! what has either cared for me 1 
I entered the world, devoted heart and soul to two causes 
— the throne of the Stuart, the glory of Letters. I saw 
them both as a poet. My father left me no heritage 
but loyalty and learning. Charles the Second praised 
my verse, and I starved ; James the Second praised my 
prose, and I starved : the reign of King William — I 
passed that in prison ! 

Sard. But the ministers of Anne were gracious to 
writers. 

Fal. And offered me a pension to belie my past life, 
and write Odes on the Queen who had dethroned her 
own father. I was not then disenchanted — I refused. 
That's years ago. If I starved, I had fame. Now came 
my worst foes, my own fellow-writers. What is fame 
but a fashion 1 A jest upon Grub Steet, a rhyme from 
young Pope, could jeer a score of gray labourers like me 
out of their last consolation. Time and hunger tame all. 
I could still starve myself ; I have six children at home 
— they must live. 

Hard. [Aside. This max; has genius — he might have 
been a grace to his age.] V*u perplexed ; Sir Robert 

Fal. Disdains letters— IN e renounced them. He pays 
services like these. W«rfi~ -I serve him. Leave me; go ! 

Hard, [rising]. Not ^o bad as he seems — another side 
to the character. 

Enter Drawer with a letter to Hardman. 

Hard. [Aside]. From Walpole ! Now then ! my fate 
— my love — my fortunes ! 

Easy [peeping over Hardman's shoulder]. He has got a, 
letter from the Prime Minister, marked "private and 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 441 

confidential." [Great agitation.] After all, he is a very- 
clever fellow. 

[Coffee-house frequenters evince the readiest assent, and the 
liveliest admiration. 

Hard, [advancing and reading the letter], " My dear 
Hardman, — Extremely sorry. Place in question abso- 
lutely wanted to conciliate some noble family otherwise 
dangerous.* Another time, more fortunate. Fully 
sensible of your valuable service. — Robert Walpole." 
— Refused ! Let him look to himself ! I will — I will — 
Alas ! he is needed by my country ; and I am powerless 
against him. [Seats himself. 

Enter Wilmot and Softhead. 

Wil. Drawer ! a private room— covers for six — dinner 
in an hour ! t And — drawer ! Tell Mr. Tonson not to 
go yet. — Softhead, we'll have an orgy to-night, worthy the 
days of King Charles the Second. 

Softhead, let me present you to our boon companions ; 
— my friend, Lord Strongbow (hardest drinker in Eng- 
land) ; Sir John Bruin, best boxer in England — threshed 
Figg ; quarrelsome but pleasant : Colonel Flint — finest 
gentleman in England, and, out and out, the best fencer ; 

* As Walpole was little inclined to make it a part of his policy 
to conciliate those whose opposition might be dangerous, while he 
was so fond of power as to be jealous of talent not wholly subser- 
vient to him, the reluctance to promote Mr. Hardman, implied in 
the insincerity of his excuse, may be supposed to arise from his 
knowledge of that gentleman's restless ambition and determined 
selfwill. 

t Is was not the custom at Will's to serve dinners ; and the 
exception in favour of my Lord Wilmot proves his influence as a 
man a la mode. 



442 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT III. 

mild as a lamb, but can't bear contradiction, and, on the 
point of honour, inexorable. Now, for the sixth. Ha, 
Mr. Easy ! (I ask him to serve you.). Easy, your hand ! 
So charmed that you've come. You'll dine with us — 
give up five invitations on purpose. Do — sans ceremonic. 

Easy. "Why, really, my Lord, a plain sober man like me 
would be out of place 

Wil. If that's all, never fear. Live with us, and we'll 
make another man of you, Easy ! 

Easy. What captivating familiarity ! Well, I cannot 
resist your Lordship. [Strutting down the room, and 
spealdng to his acquaintances.] Yes, my friend Wil mot 
— Lord Wilmot — will make me dine with him. Pleasant 
man, my friend Wilmot. ' We dine together to-day. 

[Softhead retires to the background with the other invited 
guests ; tut trying hard to escape Sir, John Bruin, the 
boxer, and Col. Flint, the fencer, fastens himself on 
Easy with an air oj patronage. 

Wil. [Aside. Now to serve the dear Duke.] You 
have not yet brought the memoir of a late Man of Quality. 

Ton. Not yet, my Lord ; just been trying ; hard work. 
[Wipes his forehead.] But the person who has it is luckily 
very poor ! one of my own authors. 

Wil. [Aside. His eye turns to that forlorn-looking 
spectre I saw him tormenting.] That must be one of 
your authors : he looks so lean, Mr. Tonson 1 

Ton. Hush ; that's the man ! made a noise in his day ; 
David Fallen. 

Wil. David Fallen, whose books, when I was but a 
schoolboy, made me first take to reading, — not as task- 
work, but pleasure. How much I do owe him ! 

[Bows very low to Mii. Fallen. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 443 

Ton. My Lord bows very low ! Oh, if your Lordship 
knows Mr. Fallen, pray tell him not to stand in his own 
light. I would give him a vast sum for the memoir, — 
two hundred guineas ; on my honour I would ! [Whisper- 
ing.] Scandal, my Lord ; sell like wild-fire. — I say, Mr. 
Hard man, I observed you speak to poor David. Can't 
you help me here? [Whispering.] Lord Henry de 
Mowbray's Private Memoirs ! Fallen has them, and 
refuses to sell. Love Adventures : nuts for the public. 
Only just got a peep myself. But such a confession 
about the beautiful Lady Morland. 

Hard. Hang Lady Morland ! 

Ton. Besides — shows up his own brother ! Jacobite 
family secrets. Such a card for the Whigs ! 

Hard. Confound the Whigs ! What do I care 1 

Wil. I'll see to it, Tonson. Give me Mr. Fallen's 
private address. 

Ton. But pray be discreet, my Lord. If that knave 
Curll should get wind of the scent, he'd try to spoil my 
market with my own author. The villain ! 

Wil. [Aside. Curll 1 Why, I have mimick'd Curll so 
exactly that Pope himself was deceived, and, stifling with 
rage, ordered me out of the room. I have it ! Mr. Curll 
shall call upon Fallen the first thing in the morning, 
and outbid Mr. Tonson.] Thank you, sir. [Talcing the 
address.] Moody, my Hardman? some problem in 
political ethics? You turn away, — you have a grief 
you'll „not tell me — why, this morning I asked you a 
favour ; from that moment I had a right to your con- 
fidence, for a favour degrades when it does not come from 
a friend. 

Hard. You charm, you subdue me, and I feel for once 



444 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT 111. 

how necessary to a man is the sympathy of another. 
Your hand, Wilmot. This is secret — I, too, then presume 
to love. One above me in fortune ; it may be in birth. 
But a free state lifts those it employs to a par with its 
nobles. A post in the Treasury of such nature is vacant ; 
I have served the minister, men say, with some credit ; 
and I asked for the gift without shame — 'twas my due. 
Walpole needs the office, not for reward to the zealous, 
but for bribe to the doubtful. See, [giving letter] " Noble 
family to conciliate." Ah, the drones have the honey ! 

Wil. [reading and returning tlie letter]. And had you 
this post, you think you could gain the lady you love ? 

Hard. At least it would have given me courage to ask. 
Well, well, well, — a truce with my egotism, — you at 
least, my fair "Wilmot, fair iu form, fair in fortune, you 
need fear no rebuff where you place your affections. 

Wil. Why, the lady's father sees only demerits in what 
you think my advantages. 

Hard. You mistake, I know the man much better 
than you do ; and look, even now he is gazing upon you 
as fondly as if on the coronet that shall blazon the coach 
of my lady, his daughter. 

Wil. Gazing on me ? — where % 

Hard. Yonder — Ha ! is it not Mr. Easy, whose 

Wil. Mr. Easy ! you too taken in ! Hark, secret for 
secret — 'tis Lucy Thornside I love. 

Hard. You — stun me ! 

Wil. But what a despot love is, allows no thought, not 
its slave ! They told me below that my father had been 
here ; have you seen him ? 

Hard. Ay. 

Wil. And sounded % 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 443 

Hard. No — better than that — I have taken precautions. 
I must leave you now ; you shall know the result to- 
morrow afternoon. [Aside. Your father's life in these 
hands — his ransom what I please to demand. — Ah, joy ! 
I am myself once again. Fool to think man could be my 
friend ! Ah, joy ! born but for the strife and the struggle, 
it is only 'mid foes that my invention is quickened ! Half- 
way to my triumph, now that I know the rival to 
vanquish !] [To Fallen. Engage the messenger at one, 
forget not. Nothing else till I see you.] [To Wilmot.] 
Your hand once again. To-day I'm your envoy ; [Aside : 
to-morrow your master.] 

[Fallen folds up papers and exit. 

Wil. The friendliest man that ever lived since the days 
of Damon and Pythias : I'm a brute if I don't serve 
him in return. To lose the woman he loves for want of 
this pitiful place. Saint Cupid forbid ! Let me consider ! 
Many sides to a character — I think I could here hit the 
right one better than Hardman. Ha ! ha ! Excellent ! 
My Murillo ! I'll not sell myself, but I'll buy the Prime 
Minister ! Excuse me, my friends ; urgent business ; I 
shall be back ere the dinner hour ; the room is prepared. 
Drawer, show in these gentlemen : Hardman shall have 
his place and his wife, and I'll bribe the arch-briber ! Ho ! 
my lackies, my coach, there ! Ha, ha ! bribe the Prime 
Minister ! There never was such a fellow as I am for 
crime and audacity. [Exit Wilmot. 

Colonel Flint. Your arm, Mr. Softhead. 

Soft: And Fred leaves me in the very paws of this 
tiger! . [Exeunt 



446 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT III. 



SCENE II. 

The Library in Sir Geoffrey's Home. 

Enter Sir Geoffrey. 

I'm followed ! I'm dogged ! I go out for a walk 
unsuspiciously ; and behind creeps a step, pit, pat ; feline 
and stealthy ; I turn, not a soul to be seen — I walk on ; 
pit, pat, stealthy and feline ! turn again ; and lo ! a dark 
form like a phantom, muffled and masked — -just seen and 
just gone. Ouf ! The plot thickens around me — I can 
struggle no more. [Sinks into a seat 

Enter Lucy. 

Who is there 1 

Lucy. But your child, my dear father. 

Sir Geof. Child, ugh ! what do you want ? 

Lucy. Ah, speak to me gently. It is your heart that I 
want ! 

Sir Geof. Heart — I suspect I'm to be coaxed out of 
something ! — Eh ; eh ! Why she's weeping. What ails 
thee, poor darling ? 

Lucy. So kind. Now I have courage to tell you. I 
was sitting alone, and I thought to myself — " my father 
often doubts of me — doubts of all " — 

Sir Geof. Ugh — what now ? 

Lucy. " Yet his true nature is generous — it could not 
always have been so. Perhaps in old times he has been 
deceived where he loved. Ah, his Lucy, at least, shall 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 447 

never deceive him." So I rose and listened for your 
footstep — I heard it — and I am here — here, on your 
bosom, my own father ! 

Sir Geo/. You'll never deceive me — right, right — go ou, 
pretty one, go on. [Aside. If she should be my child 
after all ?] 

Lucy. There is one who has come here lately — one who 
appears to displease you — one whom you've been led to 
believe comes not on my account, but my friend's. It is 
not so, my father ; it is for me that he comes. Let him 
come no more — let me see him no more — for — for — I feel 
that his presence might make me too happy — and that 
would grieve you, O my father ! 

[Mask appears at tlie window watching. 

Sir Geo/. [Aside. She must be my child ! Bless her !] 
I'll never doubt you again. I'll bite out my tongue if it 
says a harsh word to you. I'm not so bad as I seem. 
Grieve me 1 — yes, it would break my heart. You don't 
know these gay courtiers — I do ! — tut — tut — tut — don't 
cry. How can I console her ? 

Lucy. Shall I say % — let me speak to you of my 
mother. 

Sir Geo/, [recoiling]. Ah ! 

Lucy. "Would it not soothe you to hear that a friend of 
hers was in London, who 

Sir Geo/, [rising, and a change in his whole deportment], 
I forbid you to speak to me of your mother, — she dis- 
honoured me — 

Mask [in a low voice of emotion]. It is false ! 

[Mask disappears. 

Sir Geo/, [starting]. Did you say " false 1 " 

Lucy [soiling], ~No — no — but my heart said it I 



448 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT III. 

Sir Geo/. Strange ; or was it but my own fancy ? 

Lucy. Oh, father, father ! — How I shall pity you if you 
discover that your suspicions erred. And again I say — I 
feel — feel in my heart of woman — that the mother of the 
child who so loves and honours you, was innocent. 

Hardman's voice without. Is Sir Geoffrey at home 1 

[Lucy starts up, and exit. — Twilight— during the preceding 
dialogue in the scene, the stage has gradually darkened. 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. Sir Geoffrey, you were deceived ; Lord Wilmot 
has no thought of Mr. Easy's daughter. 

Sir Geo/. I know that — Lucy has told me all, and 
begged me not to let him come here again. 

Hard, [joyfully]. She has ! Then she does not love 
this Lord Wilmot % — But still be on your .guard against 
him. Remember the arts of corruption — the emissary — 
the letter — the go-between — the spy ! 

Sir Geo/. Arts ! Spy ! Ha ! if Easy was right after 
all. If those flowers thrown in at the window ; the 
watch from that house in the lane ; the masked figure 
that followed me ; all bode designs but on Lucy 

Hard. Flowers have been thrown in at the window ? 
You've been watched 1 A masked figure has followed 
you 1 One question more. All this since Lord Wilmot 
knew Lucy 1 

Sir Geo/. Yes, to be sure ; how blind I have been ! 

[Mashed figure appears. 

Hard. Ha ! look yonder ! Let me track this mystery 
[Figure disappears] : and if it conceal a scheme of Lord 
Wilmot's against your daughter's honour, it shall need 
not your sword to protect her. [Leaps from the window. 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 449 

Sir Geo/. What does he mean 1 Not my sword % 
Zounds ! he don't think of his own ! If he does, I'll 
discard him. I'm not a coward, to let other men risk 
their lives in my quarrel. Served as a volunteer under 
Marlbro', at Blenheim ; and marched on a cannon ! 
Whatever my faults, no one can say I'm not brave. 
[Starting.] Ha ! bless my life ! What is that 1 I 
thought I heard something — I'm all on a tremble ! 
Who the deuce can be brave when he's surrounded by 
poisoners — followed by phantoms; with an ugly black 
face peering in at his window 1 — Hodge, come and bar 
up the shutters — lock the door — let out the house-dog ! 
Hodge ! Hodge ! Where on earth is that scoundrel ? 

[ExU. 



SCENE III. 

TJit Streets — in perspective, an Alley inscribed Deadman's Lane — 
a large, old-fashioned, gloomy House in the Corner, with the door on 
the stage, above which is impanelled a sign of the Crown and Port- 
cullis. Enter a Female Figure, masked — looks round, pauses, omd 
enters the door. — Bark — Lights down. 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. Ha ! enters that house. I have my hand on 
the clue ! some pretext to call on the morrow, and I shall 
quickly unravel the skein. [.Exit. 

2 G 



450 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT III. 

Goodenough Easy [singing without]. — 

" Old King Cole 
Was a jolly old soul, 
And a jolly old soul was he 

[Entering, with Lord Wilmot and Softhead, East, his 
dress disordered, a pipe in his mouth, in a state of in- 
toxication, hilarious, musical, and oratorical — Soft- 
head in a state of intoxication, abject, remorseful, and 
lachrymose — Wilmot sober, but affecting inebriety. 

*' He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, 
And he called for his fiddlers three." 

Wil. Ha, ha ! I imagine myself like Bacchus between 
Silenus and his — ass ! 

Easy. Wilmot, you're a jolly old soul, and I'll give you 
my Barbara. 

Soft, [blubbering]. Hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! Betrayed in 
my tenderest affections. 

Wil. My dear Mr. Easy, I've told you already that I'm 
pre-engaged. 

Easy. Pre-engaged ! that's devilish unhandsome ! But 
now I look at you, you do seem double : and if you're 
double, you're not single ; and if you're not single, why 
you can't marry Barbara, for that would be bigamy ! But 
I don't care ; you're a jolly old soul ! 

Wil. Not a bit of it. Quite mistaken, Mr. Easy. But 
if you want, for a son-in-law, a jolly old soul — there he 
is! 

Soft, [bursting out afresh]. Hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! 

Easy. Hang a lord ! What's a lord ? I'm a respect- 
able, independent family Briton ! — Softhead, give us your 
fist : you're a jolly old soul, and you shall have Barbara ! 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 451 

Soft. Hegh ! hegh ! I'm not a jolly old soul. I'm a 
sinful, wicked, miserable monster. Hegh ! hegh ! 

Easy. What's a monster 1 I like a monster ! My girl 
shan't go a-begging any farther. You're a precious good 
fellow, and your father's an alderman, and has got a great 
many votes, and I'll stand for the City : and you shall 
have my Barbara. 

Soft. I don't deserve her, Mr. Easy ; I don't deserve 
such an angel ! I'm not precious good. Lords and tigers 
have corrupted my innocence. Hegh ! hegh ! I'm going 
to be hanged. 

Watch, [without]. Half- past eight o'clock ! 

Wil. Come along, gentlemen ; we shall have the watch 
on us ! 

Easy. — 

" And the bands that guard the City, 
Cried—' Eebels, yield or die ! ' " 

Enter Watchman. 

Watch. Half-past eight o'clock ! — move on ! move on ! 

Easy. Order, order ! Mr. Yice and gentlemen, here's a 
stranger disturbing the harmony of the evening. I knock 
him down for a song. [Seizes the Watchman's rattle.] 
Half-past Eight, Esq., on his legs ! . Sing, sir ; I knock 
you down for a song. 

Watch. Help ! help ! Watch ! watch ! 

[Cries within, " Watch ! 

Soft. Hark ! the officers of justice ! My wicked career 
is approaching its close ! 

Easy [who has got astride on the Watchman's head, and 
persuades himself that the rest of the Watchman is the 
table]. Mr. Vice and gentlemen, the toast of the evening 
2 g 2 



452 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM j [ACT III. 

what's the matter with the table 1 'Tis bobbing up 



and down. The table's drunk ! Order for the chair — 
you table, you ! [Thumps the Watchman with the rattle] 
Fill your glasses — a bumper toast. Prosperity to the City 
of London — nine times nine — Hip, hip, hurrah ! [ Waves 
the rattle over his head; the rattle springs, and makes all 
the noise of which rattles are capable.'] [Amazed.'] Why, 
the Chairman's hammer is as drunk as the table ! 

Enter Watchmen with staves, springing their rattles. 

Wil. [drawing Softhead off into a corner]. Hold your 
tongue — they'll not see us here ! 

Watch, [escaping]. Murder! — murder! — this is the 
fellow ! — most desperate ruffian. 

[Easy is upset by the escape of the Watchman, and, after 
some effort to remove him otherwise, the Guardians of the 
Night hoist him on their shoulders. 

Easy. I'm being chaired member for the City ! Free- 
men and Electors ! For this elevation to the post of 
member for your metropolis, I return you my heartfelt 
thanks ! Steady there, steady ! The proudest day of ray 
life. — 'Tis the boast of the British Constitution that a plain, 
sober man like me may rise to honours the most ex- 
alted ! Long live the British Constitution. Hip — hip — 
hurrah ! 

[Is carried off waving the rattle. Softhead continues to 
weep m speechless sorrow. 

Wil. [coming forth]. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — My family Briton 
being chaired for the City ! " So severe on a cheerful 
glass." Well, he has chosen a son-in-law drunk ; and, 
egad ! he shall keep to him sober ! Stand up ; how do 
you feel ? 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 453 

Soft. Feel I I'm a ruin ! 

Wil. Faith, I never saw a more mournful one ! It must 
be near Sir Geoffrey's ! — Led them here — on my way to 
this sepulchral appointment, Deadman's Lane. Where the 
plague can it be ? Ha ! the very place. Looks like it ! 
How get rid of Softhead. — Ha, ha ! I have it. Softhead, 
awake ! the night has begun — the time for monsters and 
their prey. Now will I lift the dark veil from the mys- 
teries of London. Behold that house, Deadman's Lane ! 

Soft. Deadman's Lane ! I'm in a cold perspiration ! 

Wil. In that house — under the antique sign of Crown 
and Portcullis — are such delightful horrors at work as 
would make the wigs of holy men stand on end ! The 
adventure is dangerous, but deliriously exciting. Into 
that abode which woman were lost did she enter, which 
man is oft hanged when he leaves — into that abode will 
we plunge, and gaze, like Macbeth, " on deeds without a 
name." 

Enter Masked Figure from, the door in Deadman's Lane, and 
approaches Wilmot, who has, till now, hold o/Softhead. 

Soft. Hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! I won't gaze on deeds 
without a name ! I won't plunge into Deadmen's abodes ! 
[Perceiving the figure.] Ha ! Look there ! Dark veil, 
indeed ! Mysteries of London ! Horrible apparition, 
avaunt ! [Breaks from Wilmot, who releases him here, 
and not till now, as he sees the figure.] Hegh ! hegh ! I'll 
go home to my mother. [Exit 

[Mask motions to Wilmot, viho follows her into the hozcse.] 

[Exeunt Mask and Wilmot within the home. 



454 HOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT IV. 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 

The Library in Sir Geoffrey's house. 
Hardman and Sir Geoffrey. 

Sir Geo/. Yes ! I've seen that you're not indifferent 
to Lucy. But before I approve or discourage, just tell 
me more of yourself, — your birth, your fortune, past life. 
Of course, you are the son of a gentleman 1 [Aside.] Now 
as he speaks truly or falsely I will discard him as a liar, 
or reward him with Lucy's hand. — He turns aside. He 
will lie ! 

Hard. Sir, at the risk of my hopes, I will speak the 
hard truth. " The son of a gentleman ! " I think not. My 
infancy passed in the house of a farmer ; the children with 
whom I played told me I was an orphan. I was next 
dropped, how I know not, in the midst of that rough 
world called school. " You have talent," said the master, 
" but you're idle ; you have no right to holidays ; you 
must force your way through life ; you are sent here by 
charity." 

Sir Geo/. Charity ! There, the old fool was wrong ! 

Hard. My idleness vanished — I became the head of the 
school. Then I resolved no longer to be the pupil of — 
Charity. At the age of sixteen I escaped, and took for 
my motto — the words of the master — "You must force 
your way through life." Hope and pride whispered — 
"You'll force it!" 

Sir Geo/. Poor fellow ! What then 1 



SCENE I.] OK, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 455 

Hard. Eight years of wandering, adventure, hardship, 
and trial. I often wanted bread — never courage. At the 
end of those years I had risen — to what 'I A desk at a 
lawyer's office in Norfolk. 

Sir Geo/. [Aside]. My own lawyer % where I first caught 
trace of him again. 

Hard. Party spirit ran high in town. Politics began 
to bewitch me. There was a Speaking Club, and I spoke. 
My ambition rose higher — took the flight of an author. 
I came up to London with ten pounds in my pocket, and 
a work on the " State of the Nation." It sold well *; the 
publisher brought me four hundred pounds. " Vast for- 
tunes," said he, " are made in the South Sea Scheme. 
Venture your hundreds, — I'll send you a broker." 

Sir Geo/. He ! he !. I hope he was clever, that broker 1 

Hard. Clever indeed : in a fortnight he said to me, 
" Your hundreds have swelled into thousands. For this 
money I can get you an Annuity on land, just enough for 
a parliamentary qualification." The last hint fired me — I 
bought the Annuity. You now know my fortune, and 
how it was made. 

Sir Geo/. [Aside]. He ! he ! I must tell this to Easy : 
how he'll enjoy it. 

Hard. Not long after, at a political coffee-house, a man 
took me aside. " Sir," said he, " you are Mr. Hardman 
who wrote the famous work on ' The State of the Nation.' 
Will you come into Parliament 1 We want a man like 
you for our borough ; we'll return you free of expense ; 
not a shilling of bribery." 

Sir Geo/. He ! he ! Wonderful ! not a shilling of 
bribery. 

Hard. The man kept his word, and I came into Par- 



456 ttOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT IV. 

liament — inexperienced and friendless. I spoke, and was 

laughed at ; spoke again, and was listened to ; failed often ; 

succeeded at last. Here, yesterday, in ending my tale I 

must have said, looking down, " Can you give your child 

to a man of birth more than doubtful : and of fortunes so 

.f 
humble 1 " Yet aspiring even then to the hand of your 

heiress, I wrote to Sir Robert for a place just vacated by 

a man of high tank, who is raised to the peerage. He 

refused. , 

Sir Geo/. Of course, [^swjk] I suspect he's very rash 
and presuming. 

Hard. To-day the refusal is retracted — the office is mine. 

■Sir Geo/, [astonished and aside]. Ha ! I had no hand 
in that ! 

Hard. I am now one — if not of the highest — yet still 
one of that Government through which the Majesty of 
England administers her laws. And, with front erect, I 
say to you — as I would to the first peer of the realm — " I 
have no charts of broad lands, and no roll of proud fathers. 
But alone and unfriended, I have fought my way against 
Fortune. Did your ancestors more 1 My country has 
trusted the new man to her councils, and the man whom 
she honours is the equal of all." 

Sir Geo/. Brave fellow, your hand. Win Lucy's con- 
sent, and you have mine. Hush ! no thanks ! Now 
listen; I have told you my dark story — these flowers 
cannot come from Wilmot. I have examined them again — 
they are made up in the very form of the posies I had the 
folly to send, in the days of our courtship, to the wife who 
afterwards betrayed me 

Hard. Be not so sure that she betrayed. No proof 
<but the boast of a profligate. 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 457 

Sir Geo/. Who had been my intimate friend for years 
— so that, O torture ! I am haunted with the doubt 
whether my heiress be my own child ! and to whom (by 
the confession of a servant) she sent a letter in secret the 
very day on which I struck the mocking boast from the 
villain's lips, in a public tavern. Ah, he was always a 
wit aud a scoffer — perhaps it is from him that these 
flowers are sent, in token of gibe and insult. He has 
discovered the man he dishonoured, in spite of the change 
of name 

Hard. You changed your name for an inheritance. 
You have not told me that which you formerly bore. 

Sir Geo/. Morland ? 

Hard. Morland — Ha — and the seducer's 

Sir Geo/. Lord Henry de Mowbray 

Hard. The reprobate brother of the Duke of Middlesex ! 
He died a few months since. 

Sir Geo/, [sinking down]. Died too ! Both dead ! 

Hard. [Aside]. Tonson spoke of Lord Henry's Memoir 
— Confession about Lady Morland in Fallen's hands. — I 
will go to Fallen at once. [Aloud.] You have given me 
a new clue. I will follow it up. — When can I see you 
again 1 

Sir Geo/. I'm going to Easy's — you'll find me there all 
the morning. But don't forget Lucy, — we must save her 
from Wilmot. 

Hard. Fear Wilmot no more. — This day he shall 
abandon his suit. [Exit Hardman. 

Sir Geo/. Hodge !— Well— well 

Enter Hodge. 
— Hodge, take your hat and your bludgeon — attend me 



458 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT IV. 

to the City, [\4siok] She'll be happy with Hardman. 
Ah ! if she were my own child after all ! 

[Exeunt Sir Geoffrey and Hodge. 



SCENE II. 

David Fallen's Garret. The scene resembling that of Hogarth's 
" Distrest Poet." 

Fal. [opening the casement]. So, the morning air breathes 
fresh ! One moment's respite from drudgery. Another 
line to this poem, my grand bequest to my country ! Ah ! 
this description ; unfinished ; good, good. 

" Methinks we walk in dreams on fairy land 
Where — golden ore — lies mix'd with " * 

Enter Paddy. 

Paddy. Please, sir, the milkwoman's score ! 
Fal. Stay, stay ; — 

"Lies mixed with — common sand ! " 

Eh 1 Milkwoman 1 She must be paid, or the children 
— I — I — [Fumbling in his pocket, and looking about the 
table]. There's another blanket on the bed ; pawn it. 
Faddy. Agh, now ! don't be so ungrateful to your ould 

* As it would he obviously presumptuous to assign to an author 
so eminent as Mr. David Fallen, any verses composed by a living 
writer, the two lines in the text are taken from Mr. Dryden's Indian 
Emperor. 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 459 

friend, the blanket. When Mr. Tonson, the great book- 
shiller, tould me, says he, " Paddy, I'd giv two hunder 
gould guineas for the papursh Mr. Fallen has in his disk ! " 

Fal. Go, go ! [Knock. 

Paddy. Agh, murther ! Who can that be distarbin' 
the door at the top of the mornin' ? [Exit. 

Fal. Oh ! that fatal Memoir ! My own labours scarce 
keep me from starving, and this wretched scrawl of a 
profligate worth what to me were Golconda ! Heaven 
sustain me ! I'm tempted. 

Enter Paddy, and Wilmot disguised as Edmund Curll. 

Paddy. Stoop your head, sir. Tis not a dun, sir ; 'tis 
Mr. Curll ; says he's come to outbid Mr. Tonson, sir. 

Fal. Go quick ; pawn the blanket. Let me think my 
children are fed. [Exit Paddy.] Now, sir, what do you 
want? 

Wil. [taking out his handkerchief and whimpering']. My 
dear good Mr. Fallen — no offence — I do so feel for the 
distresses of genius. I am a bookseller, but I have a 
heart — and I'm come' to buy 

Fal. Have you? this poem? it is nearly finished — 
twelve books — twenty years' labour — twenty-four thou- 
sand lines ! — ten pounds, Mr. Curll, ten pounds ? 

Wil. Price of Paradise Lost ! Can't expect such prices 
for poetry now-a-days, my dear Mr. Fallen. Nothing 
takes that is not sharp and spicy. Hum ,! I hear you 
have some most interesting papers; private Memoirs 
and Confessions of a Man of Quality recently deceased. 
Nay, nay, Mr. Fallen ! don't shrink back ; I'm not like 
that shabby dog, Tonson. Threo hundred guineas for the 
Memoir of Lord Henry de Movi bray. 



■460 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT IV. 

Fal. Three hundred guineas for that garbage ! — not ten 
for the Poem ! — and — the children ! Well ! [Takes 
out the Memoir in a portfolio, splendidly bound, with the 
arms and supporters of the Mowbrays blazoned on the 
sides.] Ah ! — but the honour of a woman — the secrets 
of a family — the 

Wil. [grasping at the portfolio which Fallen still 
detains.] Nothing sells better, my dear, dear Mr. Fallen ! 
But how, how did you come by these treasures, my ex- 
cellent friend ? 

Fal. How 1 Lord Henry gave them to me himself, on 
his death-bed. 

Wil. Nay ; what could he give them foi, but to publish, 
my sweet Mr. Fallen ; no doubt to immortalize all the 
ladies who loved him. 

Fal. No, sir ; profligate as he was, and vile as may be 
much in this Memoir, that was not his dying intention, 
though it might be his first. There was a lady he had 
once foully injured — the sole woman he had ever loved 
eno' for remorse. This Memoir contains a confession that 
might serve to clear the name he himself had aspersed ; 
and in the sudden repentance of his last moments, he bade 
me seek the lady, and place the whole in her hands, to 
use as best might serve to establish her innocence. 

Wil. Howcould you knowthe lady, my benevolentfriend? 

Fal. I did not ; but she was supposed to be abroad 
with her father, — a Jacobite exile, — and I, then a Jacobite 
agent, had the best chance to trace her. 

Wil. And you did? 
' Fal. But to hear she had died somewhere in France. 

Wil. Then, of course you may now gratify our intelli- 
gent Public, for your own personal profit. Clear as day 



SCENE II.] OK, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 461 

my magnanimous friend ! Three hundred guineas ! I have 
'em here in a bag ! 

Fal. Begone ! I will not sell man's hearth to the public, 

Wil. [Aside. Noble fellow !] Gently, gently, my too 
warm, but high-spirited friend ! To say the truth, I don't 
come on my own account. To whom, my dear sir, since 
the lady is dead, should be given these papers, if unfit for 
a virtuous, but inquisitive public 1 Why, surely to Lord 
Henry's nearest relation. I am employed by the rich 
Duke of Middlesex. Name your terms. 

Fal. Ha ! ha ! Then at last he comes crawling to me, 
your proud Duke? Sir, years ago, when a kind word 
from his Grace, a nod of his head, a touch of his hand, 
would have turned my foes into flatterers, I had the 
meanness to name him my patron — inscribed to him a 
work, took it to his house, and waited in his hall among 
porters and lackeys — till, sweeping by to his carriage, he 
said, " Oh ! you are the poet 1 take this," — and extending 
his alms, as if to a beggar. " You look very thin, sir ; 
stay and dine with my people." People — his servants ! 

Wil. Calm yourself, my good Mr. Fallen ! 'tis his 
Grace's innocent way with us all. 

Fal. Go ! let him know what these Memoirs contain ! 
They would make the proud Duke the butt of the town 
— the jeer of the lackeys, who jeered at my rags ; expose 
his frailties, his follies, his personal secrets. Tell him 
this ; and then say that my poverty shall not be the tool 
of his brother's revenge : but my pride shall not stoop 
from its pedestal to take money from him. Now, sir, am I 
right ? Reply, not as tempter to pauper; but if one spark 
of manhood be in you, as man speaks to man. 

Wil. [resuming his own manner]. I reply, sir, as man 



4G2 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT IV 

to man, and gentleman to gentleman. I am Frederick, 
Lord Wilmoi. Pardon this imposture. The Duke is my 
father's friend. I am here to obtain, what it is clear that 
he alone should possess. Mr. Fallen, your works first 
raised me from the world of the senses, and taught me to 
believe in such nobleness as I now hope for in you. Give 
me this record to take to the Duke — no price, sir ; for 
such things are priceless — and let me go hence with 
the sight of this poverty before my eyes, and on my soul 
the grand picture of the man who has spurned the bribe 
to his honour, and can humble by a gift the great prince 
who insulted him by alms. 

Fal. Take it — take it ! [Gives the portfolio.] I am 
saved from temptation. God bless you, young man ! 

Wil. Now you indeed make me twofold your debtor — 
in your books, the rich thought ; in yourself the heroic 
example. Accept from my superfluities, in small part of 
such debt, a yearly sum equal to that which your poverty 
refused as a bribe from Mr. Tonson. 

Fal. My Lord — my Lord [Bursts into tears. 

Wil. Oh, trust me the day shall come, when men will 
feel that it is not charity we owe to the ennoblers of life 
— it is tribute ! When your Order shall rise with the 
civilization it called into being ; and shall refer its claim 
to just rank among freemen, to some Queen whom even a 
Milton might have sung, and even a Hampden nave died for. 

Fal. dream of my youth ! My heart swells and 
chokes me ! 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. What's this ? Fallen weeping 1 — Ah ! is not 
that the tyrannical sneak, Edmund Curll I 



SCENE II ] OE, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 463 

Wil. {changing his tone to Fallen into one of imperious- 
ness\ Can't hear of the poem, Mr. Fallen. Don't tell me. 
Ah ! Mr. Harclman \concealing the portfolio'], your most 
humble ! Sir — sir — if you want to publish something 
smart and spicy — Secret Anecdotes of Cabinets — Sir 
Robert Walpole's Adventures with the Ladies — I'll come 
down as handsomely as any man in the Row — smart and 
spicy 

Hard. Offer to bribe me, you insolent rascal ! 

Wil. Oh, my dear good Mr. Hardman, I've bribed the 
Premier himself. Ha ! ha ! Servant, sir ; servant. 

[Exit. 

Hard. Loathsome vagabond ! My dear Mr. Fallen, 
you have the manuscript Memoir of Lord Henry de 
Mowbray. I know its great value. Name your own 
price to permit me just to inspect it. 

Fal. It is gone ; and to the hands of his brother, the 
Duke. 

Hard. The Duke ! This is a thunder-stroke ! Say, 
sir : you have read this Memoir — does it contain aught 
respecting a certain Lady Morland ? 

Fal. It does. It confesses that Lord Henry slandered 
her reputation as woman in order to sustain his own as 
a seducer. That part of the Memoir was writ on his 
death-bed. 

Hard. His boast, then 

Fal. Was caused by the scorn of her letter rejecting 
his suit. 

Hard. What joy for Sir Geoffrey ! And that letter ? 

Fal. Is one of the documents that make up the Memoir. 

Hard. And these documents are now in the hands of 
the Duke ! 



464 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT IV. 

Fal. They are. For, since Lady Morland is dead 

Hard. Are you sure she is dead ? 

Fj,l. I only go by report — 

Hard. Report often lies. [Aside. Who but Lady 
Morland can this mask be 1 I will go at once to the 
house and clear up that doubt myself. But the Duke's 
appointment ! Ah, that must not be forgotten ; my 
rival must be removed ere Lucy can be won. And what 
hold on the Duke himself to produce the Memoir, if I 
get the despatch.] Well, Mr. Fallen, there is no more to 
be said as to the Memoir. Your Messenger will meet 
his Grace, as we settled. I shall be close at hand ; and 
mark ! the messenger must give me the despatch which 
is meant for the Pretender. [Exit Hardman. 

Enter Paddy. • 

Paddy. Plase, sur, an' I've paid the milk-score 

Fal. [interrupting him]. I'm to be rich — so rich ! 'Tis 
my turn now. I've shared your pittance, you shall share 
my plenty ! [Scene closes. 



SCENE III. 

The Mall. 

Enter Softhead, his arms folded, and in deep thought. 
He is forming a virtuous resolution. 

Soft. Little did I foresee, in the days of my innocence, 
when Mr. Lillo read to me his affecting tragedy of George 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 465 

Barnwell,* how I myself was to be led on, step by step, to 
the brink of deeds without a name. Deadman's Lane ! — 
that funereal apparition in black ! — a warning to startle 
the most obdurate conscience ! 

Enter Easy, recently dismissed from the Watch-house ; 
slovenly, skulking, and crestfallen. 

Easy. Not a coach on the stand ! A pretty pickle I'm 
in if any one sees me ! A sober, respectable man like me, 
to wake in the watch-house, be kept there till noon among 
thieves and pickpockets, and at last to be fined five shillings 
for drunkenness and disorderly conduct ; all from dining 
with a lord who had no thoughts of making Barbara my 
Lady after all ! — Deuce take him ! 

Easy [discovering Softhead]. Softhead ! how shall I 
escape him 1 

Soft, [discovering Easy]. Easy ! What a fall ! I'll 
appear not to remember. Barbara's father should not 
feel degraded in the eyes of a wretch like myself ! How 
d'ye do, Mr. Easy 1 You're out early to-day. 

Easy. [Aside. Ha ! He was so drutfk himself he has 
forgotten all about it.] Yes, a headache. You were so 
pleasant at dinner. I wanted the air of the park. 

JSoJt. Why, you look rather poorly, Mr. Easy ! 

Easy. Indeed, I feci so. A man in business can't 
afford to be laid up — so I thought, before I went home to 
the City, that I'd just look into — Ha, ha, a seasoned toper 
like you will laugh when I tell you — I thought I'd just 
look into the 'pothecary's ! 

* We have only, I fear, Mr. Softhead's authority for supposing 
George Barnwell to be then written : it was not acted till some years 
afterwards. 

2 H 



466 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM J [ACT IV, 

Soft. Just been there myself, Mr. Easy. 

[Showing a phial. 

Easy Regarding it with mournful disgust]. Not taken 
physic since I was a boy ! It looks very nasty ! 

Soft. 'Tis worse than it looks ! And this is called 
Pleasure ! Ah ! Mr. Easy, don't give way to Fred's fasci- 
nation ; you don't know how it ends. 

Easy. Indeed I do [Aside. It ends in the watch-house]. 
And I'm shocked to think what will become of yourself, 
if you are thus every night led away by a lord, who 

Soft. Hush ! talk of the devil — look ! he's coming up 
the Mall ! 

Easy. He is ? then I'm off j I see a sedan-chair. Chair ! 
chair ! stop ! — chair ! chair ! [Exit 

Enter Wilmot and Duke. 

Duke [looking at portfolio]. Infamous indeed ! His 
own base lie against that poor lady, whose husband he 
wounded. Her very letter attached to it. Ha ! — what 
is this ? — Such ribaldry on me ! Gracious Heaven ! My 
name thus dragged through the dirt, and by a son of my 
house ! ^ Oh, my Lord, how shall I thank you 1 

Wil. Thank not me ; but the poet, whom your Grace 
left in the hall. 

Duke. Name it not — I'll beg his pardon myself ! Adieu ; 
I must go home and lock up this scandal till I've leisure 
to read and destroy it ; never again shall it come to the 
day ! And then, sure that no blot shall be seen in my 
'scutcheon, I can peril my life without fear in the cause 
of my king. [Exit Duke. 

Wil. [chanting]. 

" Gather you rosebuds while you may, 
For time is still a-flying. " 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 467 

Since my visit last night to Deadman's Lane, and my 
hope to give Lucy such happiness, I feel as if I trod upon 
air. Ah, Softhead ! why, you .stand there as languid and 
lifeless, as if you were capable of — fishing ! 

Soft. I've been thinking 

Wil. Thinking ! you do look fatigued ! What a horrid 
exertion it must have been to you ! 

Soft Ah ! Fred, Fred, don't be so hardened. What 
atrocity did you perpetrate last night ? 

Wil. Last night ? Oh, at Deaclman's Lane : monstrous, 
indeed. And this morning, too, another ! Never had so 
many atrocities on my hands as within the last twenty- 
four hours. But they are all nothing- to that which I 
perpetrated yesterday, just before dinner. Hark ! I 
bribed the Prime Minister. 

Soft. Saints in Heaven ! 

Wil. Ha ! ha ! Hit him plump on the jolly blunt side 
of his character ! I must tell you about it. Drove home 
from Will's ; put my Murillo in the carriage, and off to Sir 
Robert's — shown into his office, — "Ah ! my Lord Wilmot,'* 
says he, with that merry roll of his eye ; " this is an honour, 
what can I do for you ?" — " Sir Robert," says I, " we men 
of the world soon come to the point ; 'tis a maxim of youra 
that all have their price." — " Not quite that," says Sir 
Robert, " but let us suppose that it is." Another roll of his 
eye, as much as to say, " I shall get this rogue a bargain !" 
— " So, Sir Robert," quoth I, with a bow, " I've come> %a 
buy the Prime Minister." — " Buy me," cried Sir Robert, 
and he laughed till I thought he'd have choked; " my price 
is rather high, I'm afraid." Then I go to the door, bid my 
lackeys bring in the Murillo. " Look at that, if you please ; 
about the mark, is it not V Sir Robert runs to the picture 
2 h 2 



4QS not so bad as we seem ; [act iv. 

his breast heaves, his eyes sparkle : " A Murillo !" cries he, 
" name your price !" — " I have named it." Then he looks 
at me so, and I look at him so I — turn out the lackeys, 
place pen, ink, and paper before him ; " That place in the 
Treasury just vacant, and the Murillo is yours." — " For 
yourself 1 — I am charmed," cried Sir Robert. " No, 'tis for 
a friend of youi own, who's in want of it." — " Oh, that 
alters the case : I've so many friends troubled with the same 
sort of want." — '•' Yes, but the Murillo is genuine, — pray 
what are the friends ? " Out laughed Sir Robert, " There's 
no resisting you and the Murillo together ! There's the 
appointment. And now, since your Lordship has bought 
me, I must insist upon buying your Lordship. Fair play 
is a jewel." Then I take my grand holiday air : " Sir 
Robert," said I, " you've bought me long ago ! you've 
given us peace where we feared civil war ; and a Consti- 
tutional King instead of a despot. And if that's not 
enough to buy the vote of an Englishman, believe me, Sir 
Robert, he's not worth the buying." Then he stretched 
out his bluff hearty hand, and I gave it a bluff hearty 
shake. He got the Murillo — Hardman the place. And 
here stand I, the only man in all England, who can boast 
that he bought the Prime Minister ! Faith, you may well 
call me hardened : I don't feel the least bit of remorse. 

Soft. Hardman ! you got Hardman the place ? 

WU. I did not say Hardman 

Sojt. You did say Hardman. But as 'tis a secret that 
might get you into trouble, I'll keep it. — Yet, Dimidum 
mew, that's not behaving much like a monster? 

WU. Why, it does seem betraying the Good Old Cause ; 
— but if there's honour among thieves, there is among 
monsters ; and Hardman is in the same scrape as our- 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 469 

selves — in love ; — this place may secure him the hand of 
the lady. But mind — he's not to know I've been med- 
dling with his affairs. Hang it ! no one likes that. Not 
a word then 

Soft. Not a word. My dear Fred, I'm so glad you're not 
so bad as you seem. I'd half a mind to desert you ; but I 
have not the heart; and I'll stick by you as long as I live ! 

Wil. [aside]. Whew ! This will never do ! Poor dear 
little fellow ! I'm sorry to lose him ; but my word's 
passed to Barbara ; and 'tis all for his good. [Aloud.] 
As long as you live 1 Alas ! that reminds me of your 
little affair. I'm to be your second, you know. 

Soft. Second ! — affair ! 

Wil. With that fierce Colonel Flint. I warned you 
against him ; but you have such a deuce of a spirit. 
Don't you remember 1 

Soft. No ; why, what was it all about ? 

Wil. Let me see — oh, Flint said something insolent 
about Mistress Barbara. 

Soft. He did 1— Ruffian ! 

Wil. So — you called him out ! But if you'll empower 
me in your name to retract and apologize 

Soft. Not a bit of it. Insolent to Barbara ! Bimidum 
mece. I'd fight him if he were the first swordsman in 
England. 

Wil. Why, that's just what he is ! 

Soft. Don't care ; I'm his man — though a dead one. 

Wil. [Aside. Hang it — he's as brave as myself, on that 
side of his character. I must turn to another.] No, Soft- 
head, that was not the cause of the quarrel — said it to 
rouse you, as you seemed rather low. The fact is that it 
was a jest on yourself, that you took up rather warmly.. 



470 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT IV. 

Soft. Was that all — only myself ? 

Wil. No larger subject ; and Flint is such a good 
fencer ! 

Soft. My dear Fred ; I retract, I apologize ; I despise 
duelling — absurd and unchristianlike. 

Wil. Leave all to me. Dismiss the subject. I'll settle 
it ; only, Softhead, you see our set has very stiff rules on 
such matters. And if you apologize to a bravo like Flint ; 
nay, if you don't actually, cheerfully, rapturously fight him 
— though sure to be killed — I fear you must resign all 
ideas of high life ! 

Soft. Dimidum mece, but low life is better than no life 
at all ! 

Wil. There's no denying that proposition. It will con- 
sole you to think that Mr. Easy's kind side is Cheapside. 
And you may get upon one, if you return to the other. 

Soft. I was thinking so, when you found me — thinking 
[hesitatingly] — But to leave you 

Wil. Oh, not yet ! Retire at least with eclat. Share 
with me one grand, crowning, last, daring, and desperate 
adventure. 

Soft. Deadmans Lane again, I suppose 1 I thank you 
for nothing. Fred, I have long been your faithful follower. 
[With emotion.'] Now, my Lord, I'm your humble servant.* 
[Aside. Barbara will comfort me. She's perhaps at Sir 
Geoffrey's.] [Exit. 

Wil. Well ! his love will repay him, and the City of 
London will present me with her freedom, in a gold box 
for restoring her prodigal son to her Metropolitan bosom. 

* A play upon words plagiarised from Farquhar. The reader 
must regret that the author had not the courage to plagiarise more 
from Farquhar. 



SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 471 

Deadman's Lane — that was an adventure, indeed. Lucy's 
mother still living — implores me to get her the sight of 
her child. Will Lucy believe me ? Will 

Enter Smart. 

—Ha, Smart? Well — Well ?— You — baffled Sir 
Geoffrey 1 

Smart. He was out. 

Wil. And you gave the young lady my letter ? 

Smart. Hist ! my Lord, it so affected her — that — here 
she comes. [Exit Smart. 

Enter Lucy. 

Lucy. Oh, my Lord, is this true 1 Can it be 1 A 
mother lives ! Do you wonder that I forget all else 1 — 
that I am here — and with but one prayer, lead me to that 
mother ! She says, too, she has been slandered — blesses 
me — that my heart defended her, but — but — this is no 
snare — you do not deceive me 1 

Wil. Deceive you ! Oh, Lucy — I have a sister myself 
at the hearth of my father. 

Lucy. Forgive me — lead on— quick, quick — oh, mother, 
mother ! [Exeunt Lxjcy and Wilmot. 



472 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT V. 



ACT V. — SCENE I. 

Old Mill near the Thames. 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. The despatch to the Pretender [opening it]. Ho ! 
Wilmot is in my power ; here ends h i.s rivalry. The 
Duke's life, too, in exchange for the Memoir ? No ! 
Fear is not his weak point ; but how can this haughtiest 
of men ever yield such memorials ? Even admit the base 
lie of his brother 1 Still her story has that which may 
touch him. Since I have seen her, I feel sure of her inno- 
cence. The Duke comes : now all depends on my chance 
to hit the right side of a character. 

Enter Duke op Middlesex. 

Duke. Lord Loftus not here yet ! Strange ! 

Hard. My Lord Duke — forgive this intrusion ! 

Duke. T'other man I met at Lord Wilmot's. Sir, your 
servant ; I'm somewhat in haste. 

Hard. Still I presume to delay your Grace ; for it is on 
a question of honour ! 

Duke. Honour ! that goes before all ! Sir, my time is 
your own. 

Hard. Your Grace is the head of a house, whose fame 
is a part of our history ; it is therefore that I speak to 
you boldly, since it may be that wrongs were inflicted by 
one of its members 

Duke. How, sir ! 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 473 

Hard. Assured that if so (and should it be still iu your 
power), your Grace will frankly repair them, as a duty 
you took with the ermine and coronet. 

Duke. You speak well, sir. — [Aside. Very much like a 
gentleman !] 

Hard. Your Grace had a brother, Lord Henry de 
3 row bray. 

Duke. Ah ! Sir, to the point. 

Hard. At once, my Lord Duke. Many years ago a 
duel took place between Lord Henry and Sir Geoffrey 
Morland — your Grace knows the cause. 

Duke. Hem ! yes ; a lady — who — who 

Hard. Was banished her husband's home, and her in- 
fant's cradle, on account of suspicions based, my Lord 
Duke, on — what your Grace cannot wonder that the 
husband believed — the word of a Mowbray ! 

Duke. [Aside. Villain !] But what became of the hus- 
band, never since heard of? He 

Hard. Fled abroad from men's tongues, and dishonour. 
He did not return to his native land, till he had changed 
for another the name that a Mowbray had blighted. 
Unhappy man ! he lives still. 

Duke. And the lady — the lady 

Hard. Before the duel, had gone to the house of her 
father, who was forced that very day to fly the country. 
His life was in danger. 

Duke. How? 

Hard. He was loyal to the Stuarts, and — a Plot was 
discovered. 

Duke. Brave, noble gentleman ! Go on, sir. 

Hard. Her other ties wrenched from her, his daughter 
went with him into exile — his stay, his hope, his all. His 



474 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT V. 

lands were confiscated. She was high-born : she worked 
for a father's bread. Conceive yourself, my Lord Duke, in 
the place of that father — loyal and penniless ; noble ; 
proscribed \ dependent on the toils of a daughter ; and 
that daughter* s name sullied by 

Duke. A word 1 

Hard. From the son of that house to which all the 
chivalry of England looked for example. 

Duke. [Aside. Oh, Heaven ; can my glory thus be 
turned to my shame ?] But they said she had died, sir. 

Hard. When her father had gone to the grave, she 
herself spread or sanctioned that rumour — for she resolved 
to die to the world. She entered a convent, prepared to 
take the noviciate — when she suddenly learned that a 
person had been inquiring for her at Paris, who stated 
that Lord Henry de Mowbray had left behind him a. 
Memoir 

Duke. Ah ! 

Hard. Which acquits her. She learned, too, the clue 
to her husband — resolved to come hither — arrived six 
days since. No proof of her innocence save those for 
which I now appeal to your Grace ! 

Duke. O pride, be my succour ! [Haughtily.] Appeal 
to me, sir, and wherefore 1 

Hard. The sole evidence alleged against this lady are 
the fact of a letter sent from herself to Lord Henry, and 
the boast of a man now no more. She asserts that that 
letter would establish her innocence. She believes that, 
on his deathbed, your brother retracted his boast ; and 
that the Memoir he left will attest to its falsehood. 

Duke. Asserts — believes — go on — go on. 

Hard. No, my Lord Duke, I have done. I know that 



SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 47/) 

that letter, that Memoir exist ; that they are now in your 
hands. If her assertion be false — if they prove not her 
innocence — a word, nay, a sign, from the chief of a house 
so renowned for its honour, suffices. I take my leave, and 
condemn her. But if her story be true, you have heard 
the last chauce of a wife and a mother to be restored to 
the husband she loves and forgives, to the child who has 
grown into womanhood remote from her care ; and these 
blessings I pledged her my faith to obtain, if that letter, 
that Memoir, should prove that the boast was 

Duke. A lie, sir, a lie, a black lie ! — the coward's worst 
crime — a lie on the fair name of a woman ! Sir, this heat, 
perhaps, is unseemly ; thus to brand my own brother ! 
But if we, the peers of England, and the representatives 
of her gentlemen, can bear, can think, of vile things done, 
whoever the doer, with calm pulse and cold heart — perish 
our titles ; where would be the use of a Duke % 

Hard, [aside]. A very bright side of his character. 

Duke. Sir, you are right. The Memoir you speak of 
is in my hands ; and with it, Lady Morland's own letter. 
Much in that Memoir relates to myself; and so galls all 
the pride I am said to possess, that not ten minutes since 
methought I had rather my N duchy were forfeit than have 
exposed its contents to the pity or laugh of a stranger. I 
think no more of myself. A woman has appealed for 
her name to mine honour as a man. Now, sir, your 
commands ? 

Hard. No passage is needed, save that which acquits 
Lady Morland. Let the memoir still rest in your hands. 
Condescend but to bring it forthwith to my house ; and 
may I hope that my Lord Loftus may accompany you — 
there is an affair of moment on which I would speak to 
you both. 



47 G NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM; [ACT V. 

Duke. Your address, sir ; I will but return home for 
the documents, and proceed at once to your house. Hurry 
not ; I will wait. Allow me to take your hand, sir. 
You know how to speak to the heart of a gentleman. 

[Exit. 

Hard, [aside]. Yet how ignorant we are of men's hearts 
till we see them lit up by a passion ! This noble has made 
what is honour so clear to my eyes. Let me pause — let 
me think — let me choose ! I feel as if I stood at the 
crisis of life. 

Enter Softhead. 

Soft. What have I seen ! — Where go? — Whom consult ? 
Oh, Mr. Hardman ! You're a friend of Lord Wilmot's, 
of Sir Geoffrey's, of Lucy's 1 

Hard. Speak — quick — to the purpose. 

Soft. On my way to Sir Geoffrey's, I passed by a house 
of the most villanous character. I dare not say how 
Wilmot himself has described it. [Earnestly.] Oh, sir, 
you know Wilmot ! you know his sentiments on marriage. 
I saw Wilmot and Lucy Thornside enter that infamous 
house ! — Deadman's Lane ! 

Hard, [aside], Deadman's Lane ? He takes her to the 
arms of her mother ! forestalls my own plan, will reap 
my reward. Have I schemed, then, for him ! No, by 
3'on heavens ! 

Soft. I ran on to Sir Geoffrey's — he was out. 

Hard, [who lias been loriting in his tablets, tears out a 
page]. Take this to Justice Kite's, hard by : he will send 
two special officers, placed at the door, Deadman's Lane, 
to wait my instructions. They must go instantly — arrive 
as soon as myself. Then hasten to Mr. Easy's : Sir Geof- 



8CENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 477 

frey is there. Break your news with precaution, and 
bring him straight to that house. Leave the rest to my 
care. Away with you ; quick. 

Soft. I know he will kill me ! But I'm right. And 
when I'm right, — Dimidum mece ! [Exit. 

Hard. Ho ! ho ! It is war ! My choice is made. 
I am armed at all points, and strike for the victory. 

[Exit. 



SCENE II. 

Apartment in the house, Deadman's Lane, Crown and Portcullis, 
very old-fashioned and sombre, faded tapestry on the walls, high 
mantel-j)iece, with deep ingles; furniture rude and simple; general 
air of the room not mean, but forlorn, as of that in some house neglected 
and little inhabited since the days of Elizabeth ; the tapestry, drawn 
aside at the back, shows a door into an inner room — Lucy and her 
mother. — Wilmot seated. 

Lady Thorn. And you believe me. Dear child — this 
indeed is happiness. — Ah ! if your cruel father — 

Lucy. Hush — he will believe you, too. 

Lady Thorn. No ; I could not venture into his presence, 
without the proof that he had wronged me. 

Wil. Oh, that I had known before what interest you 
had in this Memoir ! — how can I recover it from the 
Duke !— 

Lucy. You will — you must — dear — dear Lord Wilmot 
— you have restored me to my mother ; restore my 
mother to her home. 



478 HOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT V. 

Wil. All — and this hand — would you withdraw it 
then? 

Lucy. Never from him who reunites my parents. 

Lady Thorn. Ha ! — a voice without — steps ! 

Wil. If it should be Sir Geoffrey — in some rash violence 
he might — retire — quick — quick. 

[Exeunt Lady Thornside and Lucy in the inner room. 

Enter Hardman. 

Hard. Alone ! Where is Lucy, my lord % 

Wil. In the next room with 

Hard. Her mother % 

Wil. What ! you know 1 

Hard. I know that between us two there is a strife, 
and I am come to decide it ; you love Lucy Thornside.. 

Wil. Well ! I told you so. 

Hard. You told it, my Lord, to a rival. Ay, smile. 
You have wealth, rank, fashion, and wit ; I have none of 
these, and I need them not. But I say to you — that ere 
the hand on this dial moves to that near point in time, 
your love will be hopeless and your suit be withdrawn. 

Wil. The man's mad. Unless sir, you wish me to 
believe that my life hangs on your sword, I cannot quite 
comprehend why my love should go by your watch. 

Hard. I command you, Lord Wilmot, to change this 
tone of levity : I command it in the name of a life which, 
I think, you prize more than your own ; a life that is now 
in my hands. You told me to sound your father. I have 
not done so — I have detected 

Wil. Detected ! Hold, sir ! that word implies crime. 

Hard. Ay, the crime of the great. History calls it 
Zeal. Law styles it High Treason. 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 470 

Wil. What do I hear 1 Heavens ! — my father ! Sir, 
your word is no proof 1 

Hard. But this is ! [Producing the Requisition to the 
Pretender.] 'Tis high treason, conspiring to levy arms 
against the King on the throne — here called the Usurper. 
High treason to promise to greet with banner and trump 
a pretender — here called James the Third. Such is the 
purport of the paper I hold — and here is the name of 
your father. 

Wil. [Aside]. Both are armed and alone. 

[Locks the outer door by which he is standing. 

Hard. [Aside]. So, I guess his intention. [Opens the 
windoto and looks out] Good, the officers are come. 

Wil. What the law calls high-treason I know not ; 
what the honest call treason I know. Traitor, thou who 
hast used the confidence of a son against the life of a 
father, thou shalt not quit these walls with that life in 
thy grasp — yield the proof thou hast plundered or forged. 

[Seizes him. 

Hard. 'St! the officers of justice are below; loose 
thine hold, or the life thou demandest falls from these 
hands into theirs ! 

Wil. [recoiling]. Foiled ! Foiled ! How act ! what do ? 
And thy son set yon bloodhound on thy track, O my 
father ! Sir, you say you are my rival ; I guess the terms 
you now come to impose ! 

Hard. I impose no terms. What needs the demand 1 
Have you an option ? I think better of you. We both 
love the same woman ; I have loved her a year, you a 
week ; you have her father's dislike, I his consent. One 
must yield — why should I ? Rude son of the people 
though I be, why must I» be thrust from the sunshine 



480 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT V. 

because you cross niy path as the fair and the high-born 1 
What have I owed to your order or you 1 

Wil. To me, sir 1 Well, if to me you owed some slight 
favour, I should scorn at this moment to speak it. 

Hard. I owe favour, the slightest to no man ; 'tis my 
boast. Listen still, I schemed to save your father, not 
to injure. Had you rather this scroll had fallen into the 
hands of a spy 1 And now, if I place it in yours — save 
your name from attainder, your fortunes from confiscation, 
your father from the axe of the headsman — why should I 
ask terms 1 Would it be possible for you to say, " Sir, 
I thank you ; and in return I would do my best to rob 
your life of the woman you love, and whom I have just 
known a week 1 " Could you, peer's son, and gentleman, 
thus reply, — when, if I know aught of this grand people 
of England, not a mechanic who walks thro' yon streets, 
from the loom to the hovel, but what would cry " Shame ! " 
on such answer ? 

Wil. Sir, I cannot argue with, I cannot rival the man 
who has my father's life at his will, whether to offer it as 
a barter, or to yield it as a boon. Either way, rivalry 
between us is henceforth impossible. Fear mine no more ! 
Give me the scroll — I depart. 

Hard. [Aside. His manliness moves me !] Nay let 
me pray your permission to give it myself to your father, 
and with such words as will save him, and others whose 
names are hereto attached, from such perilous hazards in 
future. 

Wil. In this too I fear that you leave me no choice ; 
I must trust as I may to your honour ! but heed well 
if 

Hard. Menace not ; you. doubt, then, my honour 1 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 481 

Wil. [with suppressed passion]. Plainly, I do ; our 
characters differ. I had held myself dishonoured for ever 
if our positions had been reversed, — if I had taken such 
confidence as was placed in you, — concealed the rivalry, — 
prepared the scheme, — timed the moment, — forced the 
condition in the guise of benefit. No, sir, no ; that may be 
talent, it is not honour. 

Hard. [Aside. This stings ! scornful fool that he is, 
not to see that I was half relenting. And now I feel but 
the foe ! How sting again % I will summon him back 
to witness himself my triumph.] Stay, my Lord ! 
[Writing at the table.] You doubt that I should yield 
up the document to your father ? Bring him hither at 
once ! He is now at my house with the Duke of 
Middlesex ; pray them both to come here, and give this 
note to the Duke. [With a smile.] You will do it, my 
Lord. 

Wil. Ay, indeed, — and when my father is safe, I will 
try to think that I wronged you. [Aside. And not one 
parting word to — to — S'death — I am unmanned. Show 
such emotion to him — No, no ! — And if I cannot watch 
over that gentle life, why the angels will !] I — I go, sir, 
— fulfil the compact ; I have paid the price. [Exit. 

Hard. He loves her more than I thought for. But 
she 1 Does she love him 1 [Goes to the door.] Mistress 
Lucy ! [Leads forth Lucy. 

Lucy. Lord Wilmot gone ! 

Hard. Nay, speak not of him. If ever he hoped that 
your father could have overcome a repugnance to his suit 
he is now compelled to resign that hope, and for ever 
[Lucy turns aside, and weeps quietly.] Let us speak of 

your parents — your mother 

2 i 



482 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM j [ACT V. 

Lucy. Oh, yes — my dear mother — I so love her already. 

Hard. You have heard her tale ! Would you restore 
her, no blot on her name, to the hearth of your 
father ? 

Lucy. Speak ! — speak ! — can it be so 1 

Hard. If it cost you some sacrifice ? 

Lucy. Life has none for an object thus holy. 

Hard. Hear, and decide. It is the wish of your father 
that I should ask for this hand 

Lucy. No ! — no ! 

Hard. Is the sacrifice so hard % Wait and hear the 
atonement. You come from the stolen embrace of a 
mother; I will make that mother the pride of your 
home. You have yearned for the love of a father ; I will 
break down the wall between yourself and his heart — I 
will dispel all the clouds that have darkened his life. 

Lucy. You will — you will I O blessings upon you ! 

Hard. Those blessings this hand can confer ! 

Lucy. But — but — the heart — the heart — that does not 
go with the hand. 

Hard. Later, it will. I only pray for a trial. I ask but 
to conquer that heart, not to break it. Your father will 
soon be here — every moment I expect him. He comes 
in the full force of suspicion — deeming you lured here by 
Wilmot — fearing (pardon the vile word) your dishonour. 
How explain % You cannot speak of your mother till I 
first prove her guiltless. Could they meet till I do, words 
would pass that would make even union hereafter too 
bitter to her pride as a woman. Give me the power at 
once to destroy suspicion, remove fear, delay other expla- 
nations. Let me speak — let me act as your betrothed, 
your accepted. Hark ! voices below — your father comes I 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 483 

— I have no time to plead ; excuse what is harsh — seems 
ungenerous 

Sir Geo/, [uritlwut]. Out of my way ! — loose my sword ! 

Lucy. Oh save my mother ! — Let him not see my mother. 

Hard. Grant me this trial — pledge this hand now — 
retract hereafter if you will. Your mother's name — your 
parents' reunion ! Ay or no ! — will you pledge it % 

Lucy. Can you doubt their child's answer % I pledge it ! 

Enter Sir Geoffrey, struggling from Easy, Softhead, 
Barbara. 

Sir Geo/. Where is he ? where is this villain 1 let me 
get at him ! What, what, gone % [Falling on Hardman's 
breast.'] Oh Hardman ! You came, you came ! I dare 
not look at her yet. Is she saved ? 

Hard. Your daughter is innocent in thought as in deed 
— I speak in the name of the rights she has given me ; 
you permitted me to ask for her hand ; and here she has 
pledged it ! 

Sir Geo/. O my child ! my child ! I never called you 
that name before. Did I % Hush ! I know now that 
thou art my child ; know it by my anguish ; know it by 
m y joy* Who could wring from me tears like these, but 
a child ! 

Easy. But how is it all, Mr. Hardman % you know 
everything ! That fool Softhead, with his cock-and-bull 
story, frightened us out of our wits. 

Soft. That's the thanks I get ! How is it all, Mr. 
Hardman 1 

Sir Geo/. Ugh, what so clear? He came here— he 
saved her ! My child was grateful. Approach, Hard- 
man, near, near. Forgive me, if your childhood was 
2 i 2 



484 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM; [ACT V. 

lonely ; forgive me, if you seemed so unfriended. Your 
father made me promise that you should not know the 
temptations that he thought had corrupted himself, — 
should not know of my favours, to be galled by what he 
called my suspicions, — should not feel the yoke of depend- 
ence; — should believe that you forced your own way 
through the world — till it was made. Now it is so. Ah, 
not in vain did I pardon him his wrongs against me ; not 
in vain fulfil that sad promise which gave a smile to his 
Lips in dying ; not in vain have I bestowed benefits on 
you. You have saved — I know it — I feel it ; saved from 
infamy — my child. 

Lucy. Hush, sir, hush ! 

[Throws herself into Barbara's arms. 

Hard. My father 1 Benefits % You smile, Mr. Easy. 
"What means he 1 No man on this earth ever bestowed 
benefits on me ! 

Easy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Nay, excuse me ; but when I 
think that that's said by a clever fellow like you — ha ! 
ha ! — the jest is too good : as if any one ever drove a 
coach through this world but what some other one built 
the carriage, or harnessed the horses ! Why, who gave 
you the education that helped to make you what you are 1 
Who slily paid Tonson, the publisher, to bring out the 
work that first raised you into notice ? Who sent you 
the broker with the tale of the South-Sea Scheme % From 
whose purse came the sum that bought your annuity? 
Whose land does the annuity burthen ? Who told 
Fleece'em, the boroughmonger, to offer you a seat in 
Parliament 1 Who paid for the election that did not 
cost you a shilling 1 — who, but my suspicious, ill-tempered, 
good-hearted friend there ? And you are the son of his 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 485 

foster-brother, the man who first wronged and betrayed 
him ! 

Soft. And this is the gentleman who knows everybody 
and everything 1 Did not even know his own father ! 
La ! why he's been quite a take-in ! Ha ! ha ! 

Easy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Hard. And all the while I thought I was standing 
apart from others, — needing none ; served by none ; 
mastering men ; moulding them, — the men whom my 
father had wronged went before me with noiseless benefi- 
cence, and opened my path through the mountain I 
fancied this right hand had hewn ! 

Sir Geof. Tut! I did but level the ground; till you 
were strong eno' to rise of yourself ; I did not give you 
the post that you named with so manly a pride ; / did 
not raise you to the councils of your country as the 
« Equal of All ! " 

Soft. No ! for that you'll thank Fred. He bribed the 
Prime Minister with his favourite Murillo. He said you 
wanted the post to win the lady you loved. Dimidium 
mei,-r-I think you might have told him what lady it was. 

Hard. So ! Wilmot !— It needed but this ! 

Easy. Pooh, Mr. Softhead ! Sir Geoffrey would never 
consent to a lord. Quite right. Practical, steady fellow 
is Mr. Hardman ; and as to his father, a disreputable 
connection — quite right not to know him ! All you want, 
Geoffrey, is to secure Lucy's happiness. 

Sir Geof. All ! That, now, is his charge. 

Hard. I accept it. But first I secure yours, O my 
benefactor ! This house, in which you feared to meet 
infamy, is the home of sorrow and virtue ; the home of a 
woman unsullied, but slandered, — of her who, loving you 



486 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT V. 

still, followed your footsteps ; watched you night and day 
from yon windows ; sent you those flowers, the tokens of 
innocence and youth ; in romance, it is true — the romance 
only known to a woman — the romance only known to the 
pure ! Lord Wilmot is guiltless ! He led your child to 
the arms of a mother ! 

Sir Geo/. Silence him ! — silence him ! — 'tis a snare ! 
I retract ! He shall not have this girl ! Her house ? 
Do I breathe the same air as the woman so loved and 
so faithless ? 

Lucy. Pity, for my mother ! — No, no ; justice for her ! 
Pity for yourself and for me ! 

Sir Geo/. Come away, or you shall not be my child, I'll 
disown you. That man speaks 

Enter Wilmot, Duke, and Lord Loftus. 

Hard. I speak, and I prove — [To the Duke] — The 
Memoirs — [Glancing over them.] Here is the very letter 
that the menial informed you your wife sent to Lord 
Henry. Read it ; and judge if such scorn would not goad 
such a man to revenge. What revenge could he wield ? 
Why, a boast ! 

Sir Geo/, [reading]. The date of the very day that he 
boasted. Ha ! brave words ! proud heart ! I suspect ! — 
I suspect ! 

Hard. Lord Henry's confession ! It was writ on his 
deathbed. 

Lord Lof. 'Tis his hand. I attest it. 

Duke. I, too, John, Duke of Middlesex. 

Sir Geof. [who has been reading the confession]. Heaven 
forgive me ! Can she ? The flowers ; the figures ; 
the How blind I've been ! Where is she 1 where 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 487 

is she 1 You said she was here ! [Lady Thornside 
appears at the door.} Ellinor ! Ellinor ! to my arms — to 
my heart — O my wife ! Pardon ! Pardon ! 

Lady Thorn. Nay, all was forgiven when I once more- 
embraced our child. 

Hard, [to Loftus and Duke]. My Lords, destroy this 
Requisition ! When you signed it, you doubtless believed 
that the Prince you would serve was of the Church of 
your Protestant fathers 1 You are safe evermore ; for 
your honour is freed. The Prince has retired to Borne, 
and abjured your faith. I will convince you of this later. 

[Duke and Softhead continue to shun each other with mutual 
apprehension. 

Easy [to Wilmot]. Glad to find you are not so bad as 
you seemed, my Lord ; and now that Lucy is engaged to 
Mr. Hardman 

Wil. Engaged already ! [Aside. So ! he asked me here 
to insult me with his triumph !] Well ! 

Hard. Lucy, your parents are united — my promise 
fulfilled; permit me — [Takes her hand.] Sir Geoffrey, 
the son of him who so wronged you, and whose wrongs 
you pardoned, now reminds you, that he is entrusted 
with the charge to ensure the happiness of your child ! 
Behold the man of her choice, and take from his presence 
your own cure of distrust. With his faults on the surface, 
and with no fault that is worse than that of concealing 
his virtues ; — Here she loves and is loved ! And thus 
I discharge the trust, and ensure the happiness ! 

[Placing her liand in Wilmot's. 

Sir Geo/. How ? 

Lady Thorn. It is true — do you not read in her blush 
ihe secret of her heart 1 



4S8 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM ; [ACT V 

Wil. How can I accept at the price of 



Hard. Hush ! For the third time to-day, you have but 
one option. You cannot affect to be generous to me at 
the cost of a heart all your own. Take your right. Come, 
my Lord, lest I tell all the world how you bribed the 
Prime Minister. 

Soft, [who has taken Easy aside]. But, indeed, Mr. 
Easy, I reform ; I repent. Mr. Hardman will have a 
bride in the country — let me have a bride in the city. 
After all, I was not such a very bad monster. 

Easy. Pooh ! Won't hear of it ! Want to marry only 
just to mimic my Lord. 

Bar. Dear Lord Wilmot ; do say a good word for us. 

Easy. No, sir ; no ! Your head 's been turned by a 
lord. 

Wil. Not the first man whose head has been turned 
by a lord, with the help of the Duke of Burgundy — eh, 
Mr. Easy 1 I'll just appeal to Sir Geoffrey. 

Easy. No — no — hold your tongue, my Lord. 

Wil. And you insisted upon giving your daughter to 
Mr. Softhead ; forced her upon him. 

Easy. I — never ! — When % 

Wil. Last night, when you were chaired member for 
the City of London. I'll just explain the case to Sir 
Geoffrey 

Easy. Confound it — hold — hold ! — You like this young 
reprobate, Barbara ? 

Bar. Dear papa, his health is so delicate ! I should 
}ike to take care of him. 

Easy. There, go, and take care of each other. Ha ! 
ha ! I suppose it is all for the best. 



SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 489 

[Duke takes forth, and puts on, his spectacles ; examines 
Softhead curiously — is convinced that he is human, 
approaches, and offers his hand, which Softhead, 
emboldened by Barbara, though not without misgivings, 
accepts. 

A great deal of dry stuff, called philosophy, is written 
about life. But the grand thing is to take it coolly, and 
have a good-humoured indulgence 

Wil. For the force of example, Mr. Easy ! 

Soft. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Wil. For the follies of fashion, and the crimes of mon- 
sters like myself, and that terrible Softhead ! 

Sir Geo/. Ha ! ha ! 

Hard. You see, my dear Wilmot, many sides to a 
character ! 

Wil. Plague on it, yes ! But get at them all, and we're 
not so bad as we seem 

Soft. No, Fred, not quite so bad ! 

Wil Taking us as we stand — Altogether I 



"DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD!" 

OR, 

A KEY TO THE PLAY. 

(AN AFTER-SCEN'E, by way of an epilogue.) 
{Intended to have been spoken by the Original Amateur Performers.) 

SCENE. 

Wdlmot's Apartment. — Wilmot, Sir Geoffrey, Softhead, Easy, 
and Hardman, seated at a Table. Wine, Fruits, &c. 

Wil. Pass the wine — what's the news 1 

Easy. Funds have risen to-day. 

Sir Geo/. I suspect it will rain. 

Easy. Well, I've got in my hay. 

Hard. David Fallen is dead ! 

Omnes. David Fallen ! 

Wil. Poor fellow ! 

Sir Geo/. I should like to have seen him ! 

Soft. I saw him ! So yellow ! 

Hard. Your annuity killed him ! 

Wil. How — how 1 to the point. 

Hard. By the shock on his nerves — at the sight of a joint. 
A very great genius 

Easy. I own — now he's dead, 
That a writer more charming 

Wil. Was never worse fed I 



492 



DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD ; 



Hard. His country was grateful 

Soft, [surprised]. He looked very shabby ! 

Hard. His bones 

Soft. You might count them ! 

Hard. Repose in the Abbey ! 

Soft, [after a stare of astonishment]. So that is the way 
that a country is grateful ! 
Ere his nerves grew so weak, — if she'd sent him a plateful. 

Easy [hastily producing a long paper]. My Taxes ! 
Your notions are perfectly hateful ! 

[Pause. — Evident feeling that there's no getting over Mr. 
Easy's paper. 

Wil. Pope's epigram stung him. 

Hard. Yes, Pope has a sting. 

Wil. But who writes the epitaph % 

Hard. Pope : a sweet thing ! 

Wil. 'Gad, if I were an author, I'd rather, instead, 
Have the epitaph living — the epigram dead. 
If Pope had but just reconsidered that matter, 
Poor David 

Soft. Had gone to the Abbey much fatter ! 

Easy. He was rather a scamp ! 

Wil. Put yourself in his place. 

Easy [horror-struck]. Heaven forbid ! 

Hard. Let us deem him the Last of a Race ! 

Sir Geo/. But the race that succeeds may have little 
more pelf. 

Hard. Ay ; and trials as sharp. I'm an author myself. 
But the remedy? Wherefore should authors not build 

Easy. An alms-house ? 

Hard. No, merchant, their own noble guild i 

Some fortress for youth in the battle for fame ; 



OR, A KEY TO THE PLAY. 493 

Some shelter that Age is not humbled to claim ; 

Some roof from the storm for the Pilgrim of Knowledge ; — 

Wil. Not unlike what our ancestors meant by — a College ; 
Where teacher and student alike the subscriber, 
Untaxing the Patron, — 

Easy. The State 

Hard. Or the briber, 

Wil. The son of proud Learning shall knock at the door 
And cry This* is rich, and not whine Thatf is poor. 

Hard. Oh right ! For these men govern earth from 
their graves — 
Shall the dead be as kings, and the living as slaves ! 

Easy. It is all their own fault — they so slave one another; 
Not a son of proud Learning but knocks — down his brother ! 

Wil. Yes ! other vocations, from Thames to the Border, 
Have some esprit de corps, and some pride in their order ; 
Lawyers, soldiers, and doctors, if quarrels do pass, 
Still soften their spite from respect to their class j 
Why should authors be spitting and scratching like tabbies, 
To leave but dry bones 

Soft. For those grateful cold Abbeys ! 

Hard. Worst side of their character ! 

Wil. True to the letter. 

Are their sides, then, so fat, we can't hit on a better 1 

Hard. Why — the sticks in the fable ! — our Guild be 
the tether. 

Wil. Ay : the thorns are rubbed off when the sticks 
cling together. 

Soft. \inusingly\. 1 could be — yes — I could be a Pilgrim 
of Knowledge, 
If you'd change Deadman's Lane to a snug little College. 
* The head. f The pocket. 



494 DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD ; 

Sir Geo/. Ugh ! stuff ! — it takes money a College to 
found. 

Easy. I will head the subscription myself — with a pound. 

Hard. Quite enough from a friend : for we authors 
should feel 
We must put our own shoulders like men to the wheel. 
Be thrifty when thriving — take heed of the morrow, 

Easy. And not get in debt 

Sir Geo/. Where the deuce could they borrow ? 

Hard. Let us think of a scheme. 

Easy. He is always so knowing. 

Wil. A scheme ! I have got one ; the wheel 's set a- 
going ! 
A play from one author. 

Hard. With authors for actors. — 

Wil. And some benefit nights, 

Both. For the world's benefactors. 

Sir Geof. Who'll give you the play ? it will not be 
worth giving, 
Authors now are so bad ; always are while they're living ! 

Easy. Ah ! if David Fallen, great genius, were here 

Omnes. Great genius ! 

Hard. A man whom all time shall revere i 

Soft, [impatiently]. But he's dead. 

Omnes [lugubriously]. He is dead ! 

Easy. The true Classical School, sir ! 

Ah ! could he come back ! 

Wil. He'll not be such a fool, sir. 

[Taking Hardjian aside, whispers. 
We know of an author. 

Hard, [doubtfully]. Ye — s — s, David was brighter. 

Omnes. But he's dead. a 



OR, A KEY TO THE PLAY. 495 

Hard. This might do — as a live sort of writer. 

Easy. Alive ! that looks bad. 

Soft. Must we take a live man ? 

Wil. To oblige us he'll be, sir,— as dead as he can ! 

Soft. Alive ; and will write, sir ? 

Hard. With pleasure, sir. 

Soft. Pleasure ! 

Hard. With less than your wit, he has more than your 

leisure. 

Coquets with the Muse 

Sir Geof. Lucky dog to afford her ! 

Wtl. Can we get his good side ? 

Hard. Yes, he's proud of his order. 

Wil. Then he'll do ! 

Sir Geof. As for wit — he has books on his shelves. 

Hard. Now the actors ? 

Wil. By Jove, we will act it ourselves. 

[Omnes, at first surprised into enthusiasm, succeeded by great 
consternation. 

Sir Geof. Ugh, not I ! 

Soft. Lord ha' mercy ! 

Easy. A plain, sober, steady — 

Wil. I'll appeal to Sir Geoffrey. There's one caught 
already ! 
This suspicious old knight ; to his blind side, direct us. 

Hard. Your part is to act 

Wil. True ; and his to suspect us, 

I rely upon you. 

Hard, [looking at his watch]. Me ! I have not a minute ! 

Wil. If the Play has a plot, he is sure to be in it. 
Come, Softhead ! 

Soft, I won't. I'll go home to my mother. 



496 DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD. 

Wil. Pooh ! monsters like us always help one another. 

Sir Geo/. I suspect you will act. 

Soft. Well, I've this consolation — 

Still to imitate one 

Hard. Who defies imitation. 

Wil. Let the public but favour the plan we have hit on, 
And we'll chair through all London, — our Family Briton. 

Sir Geqf. What 1 — what % Look at Easy ! He's drunk, 
or I dream 

Easy [rising]. The toast of the evening — SUCCESS to 
the Scheme ! 



THE END, 



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